


When The World Was At War

by rosalinddd



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Becca Barnes is the hero we didn't know we needed, Bucky is a crier, Fluff and Angst, Goats, Happy Ending, M/M, Natasha is the realest and the baddest, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peggy Carter is smarter than the entire u.s. army, Post-War, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Sarah Rogers is the best mother in the world, Shuri is smart and sweet and amazing, Some minor smut, War, and a farm or two, but there will be fun, fuck off marvel, let me tell you about steve's uso days, rip their happiness from my cold dead hands, stevebucky retirement, thats right showgirl steve is in this one, there will be funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-05-21 14:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 142,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosalinddd/pseuds/rosalinddd
Summary: An anthology of lost moments between Steve and Bucky from when they were just little boys to the days spent living in Wakanda one hundred years later.





	1. Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dreamt the gods descended  
> I dreamt that time had ended  
> Planets colliding  
> Maybe one day we'll be free  
> But all I ever wanted was for you to want me

1923

When they’re five years old Bucky is holding Steve’s hand as they walk back from school. The learning is all coloring and writing and sweet bubbling laughter so they leave the little classroom feeling giddy and warm just like the spring air around them. Steve only had a minor cold this past April; Sarah is finally starting to think he’s growing out of all that sickness nonsense.

Bucky tugs Steve along as they walk, laughing at nothing.

“Hey Steve?” Bucky’s small voice calls.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve replies looking over at his best friend. Right now they’re the same height with the same amount of ruffled hair and chubby cheeks.

“What’s it you were drawing today? You were doing it when we were supposed to be copying letters.” Bucky gives him a funny side eye that melts into a curious smile.

“Nothing.” Steve shrugs but squeezes Bucky’s hand tighter. Their shoulders bump.

“You liar! Anybody with half a brain could tell you weren’t paying attention! I wanna see it, Steve!” Bucky huffs out.

“No! ‘M not showing ya!” Steve huffs right back. His free hand pats the pocket to make sure the drawing is still safely tucked there. Steve started taking to drawing when he was laid up sick with his last bout and now he can’t stop doing it. Sarah has them all saved in her dresser. Her favorite, a lopsided portrait of her, is tacked up on the wall next to the front door so she can see it when she leaves for work and when she comes back home.

“Show me Steve!” Bucky halts them and turns on him. “Why can’t I see it?” Steve matches Bucky’s stance, both of them hands on their hips and narrowing their eyes at each other. Bucky shuffles closer to him reaching for the pocket he can see the paper poking out of. Steve whips out of the way. “Hey!” Bucky chases him around trying to make a grab for the drawing.

“Leave me be, you big jerk!”

“Just give it to me, punk!”

They go in circles until Steve can’t breathe then Bucky finally gets the drop on him and snatches the picture where it's threatening to fall out of Steve’s small pocket. He quickly runs a few feet away from Steve to unfold it in peace while Steve struggles for air. Bucky’s triumphant grin falters a bit when he sees the drawing. As far as drawings go it's nothing particularly impressive considering it was done by a five year old but Bucky lets out a gasp when he sees it, regardless. The lines are crude and the features are a little disproportionate but he knows exactly what it is and he clutches it tight to his chest as he turns around to look at Steve. Steve looks up at Bucky from where he has his hands on his knees panting. Then Bucky finds himself, for the first time since Steve met him, at a loss for words. Steve quirks a brow at the gaping boy before him. He can feel how hot his face is and is just waiting for the remarks to start and the jokes to come flying at him. But Bucky just lets his impressive shock turn into pride and appreciation.

“Stevie,” Bucky finally says pulling the picture away from his chest to get a good look again. He shakes his head and that brown mop of hair flutters even more into his eyes. “It’s damn good.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s big blue eyes go wide. “Your mama wouldn’t like you talking like that!” Bucky ignores him and looks at the primitive portrait of himself. Big eyes and curved lips with a fat head of too much hair.

“Can I keep it? Please, Steve, I want this bad. Oh boy,” Bucky curves his lips into that devilish smile his mom calls trouble. “I’m saving this 'til the day I die.” Steve studies him until his breathing returns to normal. His blush starts going down when he realizes Bucky really means it, he likes it. But a new kind of steady blush creeps in as Steve kicks his shoe at the sidewalk and stuffs his hands in his pockets just like he’s seen Mr. Matthews do when he’s flirting with Miss Ellison after class. He feels funny, fluttery all of a sudden.

“I’m keeping it!” Bucky announces lifting his chin. It puts a smile on Steve’s lips and they stand on the sidewalk grinning so sweet at each other. “Come on.” Bucky says coming over and throwing an arm over Steve’s shoulders, a move that becomes as familiar as breathing to the two of them as they grow older. Then he kisses him on the cheek just like he always does when he brings his friend close. In the Barnes family kissing was like blinking. Bucky couldn’t make a move without kissing his mother’s cheek. It drove him crazy and he was quickly coming to resent having to abide by the house rule but it was too late. The habit was in Bucky’s blood. He once kissed Miss Ellison when she gave him the best mark he’d seen all year. A real A+. Steve just laughed from the doorway when Bucky pulled back, blushing hard and stuttering an apology, not quite realizing he’d done it until he did.

Bucky goes home that night and tucks the drawing under his pillow where it stays until it finds it way into the pocket of his uniform the day he ships out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Memorial - Susanne Sundfør


	2. The World's Smiling Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is this love  
> Found in the heart of the sun  
> Raised from the dust of our days  
> Learned from the error of our ways  
> Oh is this love a light in the dark of the world  
> Well I know you're a dancer  
> Take hold of my hand  
> The world's smiling now

1923

Just a few days after the drawing ordeal Steve is draped over Bucky’s couch listening to Becca cry from the other room as a very pregnant Mrs. Barnes tries to calm her down. Bucky keeps sighing in irritation waiting for his mom to pop out and give them permission to go play a couple blocks down with the Gardner boys.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I can hear you from in here!” Mrs. Barnes yells over the decreasing cries of Becca’s toddler indignation. “Don’t you go giving me that attitude now!” Bucky goes red and burrows down into the couch as he mumbles a sorry his mother can’t hear. Finally, she comes out with a tear soaked little girl in her arms wriggling to get free. “Now what is it you want?”

“Mama, can we go down and play with Sam and Willy? They said their papa was making supper and they invited us. Can I go?”

“Oh yeah?” Winnie Barnes cocks an eyebrow. She wasn’t a fan of the Gardner’s mother, a shrewd stuck up woman who was still riding on the highs of her early twenties' theatrical days, but she doesn’t tell the boys that. She simply sighs and says, “Fine but you better show them good manners and thank them for feeding you. I won’t be hearing about my boy being a poor guest. That goes for you too, Steven. Don’t think I won’t tell your mother if I hear something I don’t like!” The boys are already out the door before Winnie can finish.

They race each other for a block until Steve needs to slow down. Bucky doesn’t miss a beat, faking his own panting so Steve doesn’t feel so out of place. Bucky waits for Steve to catch his breath while a stray dog barks at an old woman across the street. Instead of running the rest of the way Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and starts walking towards the Gardner’s. 

“Do you think you’ll get a little brother?” Steve asks. Winnie Barnes is about eight months pregnant and sure to her bones that her next baby is a girl so naturally Steve and Bucky never miss an opportunity to joke to her what a great baby brother the next one is gonna be and that they came up with another great boy name today, _even better than the last, mama!_

“I don’t know. Becca’s annoying but she can be real sweet. It might be nice for another sister. That’s what Mama wants anyway, she said she’s done with boys since she got me.” Bucky puffs out his chest proudly knowing in his five year old mind he's all the man his family needs besides his father. 

“What about your dad?”

“He doesn’t say much about it,” Bucky shrugs without looking at Steve. “Maybe he doesn’t mind what it is.” It would take Bucky a few years for him to realize the exact reason behind his father’s silence on the matters of new children. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his children, he did and fiercely, but even before the Depression they weren’t well off folks and with every new mouth to feed Mr. Barnes took on longer harder hours that broke his back and kept him from really seeing his family grow. 

“I wonder what it's like to have a brother.” Steve says idly chewing on his lip. Bucky rolls his eyes and bumps his shoulder into Steve's. 

“Shut up, you got me.” Bucky smiles and Steve matches his happy expression. “We’re always gonna be together, Stevie.”

“Why you always gotta call me that?” Steve asks irritably, wiping off the kiss Bucky pecks on his cheek. 

“You call me Bucky!”

“That’s your name, stupid!”

“Well, so what? I call you what I want!”

“You call me what I want you to call me!” They scuffle on the sidewalk until Steve gets a good hit on Bucky’s jaw that, by the looks of Bucky’s watering eyes, is sure to bruise.

“You punk! I’ll get you back for that, _Stevie_!” Bucky tries to give him his best mean face but they both end up giggling once Bucky straightens back up.

* * *

It's a couple weeks later, just one week until summer vacation, when Steve and Bucky are walking home holding hands just like always. Bucky is telling Steve some story about Maggie Rosing’s big brother and how he got arrested last week for stealing a whole fruit cart. Steve doesn’t quite believe it because he isn’t so sure Maggie has an older brother. He’s never sitting with her at mass on Sundays. _But maybe that’s because he keeps getting arrested?_

“It took them three whole days to find the cart!” Bucky tells him, eyes wide as can be.

“How do you steal a cart and keep it for three days?” Steve speculates.

“I don’t know. Ask Maggie’s brother.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name? Maybe I will.” Steve is almost positive, now that he really thinks about it, that Maggie is an only child.

“It’s,” Bucky pauses to squint his eyes in thought. “It's M - Marthew.”

“That ain't a real name!” Steve exclaims.

“Sure it is! Like Mark and Matthew. I know lots of 'em. You know, not everyone has a boring name like you.” Bucky throws his head back to laugh. His hair is shorter since his mother cut it two days ago. Steve finds himself thinking he likes it longer. While he’s about to take his free hand and tug at the short roots he feels the first rock hit the back of his head. He lets out a hiss of pain before whipping around. Three teenage boys are laughing at Steve and Bucky who just scowl right back. 

“Aw look at their faces!” One of them mock pouts. Then another of the boys bends over to pick up a piece of dislodged sidewalk and hurls it at Steve’s head. It's small and misses but that does it for Bucky, who charges, Steve hot on his heels. Bucky is muttering things about manners and best friends and asthma as the boys block Bucky’s feeble attacks with roaring laughter. Steve jumps in on the brawl but before he can get any solid hits in they lay him and Bucky out. Steve wants to bounce back up but his head hurts and one of his hands is scraped bloody from trying to break his fall. Bucky seems to be in the same condition. 

“What, are you gonna cry?” One says puffing out his bottom lip and looking at Bucky’s dejected face. Steve is curling his small bloody fist when they start to walk away.

“C’mon,” The tallest boy says holding his stomach and speaking through chuckles. “Ginger said she and the girls will be waiting for us at the corner. Who cares about these kids?” The two of them watch the teenage boys leave from their spots still on the dirty sidewalk. Steve really thinks about going after them and teaching them a lesson but they’re so much bigger than he is and next to him Bucky is rubbing at his red cheeks and biting hard on his lip to keep from crying. A minute of silence passes until finally Bucky gets up and pulls Steve off the ground. 

“You okay, pal?” Bucky asks looking seriously at him. Steve watches those glassy grey blue eyes run all over him checking for real injury. 

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs. “Are you?” Bucky shrugs too and then grabs Steve’s bloody hand. 

“We should get your ma to look at this.” He mumbles looking down at the scrape with furrowed brows.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs again. Where Bucky looks a little broken and defeated Steve can feel his own face burning hot from rage. “Why’d they do that, Buck?”

“I don’t know.”

“I shoulda hit harder. I shoulda-”

“Steve they were way bigger than us. We woulda got our asses beat anyway.” Bucky shakes his head with disbelief at Steve’s angry face then places his hand in Steve’s non bloodied one. Steve doesn’t miss the cringe that comes from Bucky. He looks down at their hands and sees that one of Bucky’s little fingers is looking funny and discolored and-

“Buck, did you break your finger? Why’d you do that?”

“ _I_ didn’t do it!”

“No, why’d you fight ‘em? They were throwing rocks at _me_. You shoulda left it alone! I coulda-”

“What?” Bucky yells. “Are you kidding me?” Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. Bucky just gathers in real close to spit in his face, “Listen here you little punk, there ain’t gonna be a day I won’t stick up for you! For us!”

“Fine!” Steve blows out a breath and pushes Bucky out of his space leaving a little blood on Bucky’s wrinkled blue shirt. But the effort is pointless because Bucky comes right back in grabbing Steve’s face with one hand and planting a kiss right on his lips. 

“Silly punk.” Bucky mutters as he pulls away, face still serious but a little soft from feeling Steve against him like that. Steve doesn’t blink, not because he’s surprised, _Bucky’s a kisser, what can he say?_ But rather because he’s just madder. 

“I don’t want you getting hurt for me.” Steve grumbles as they start walking again.

“Too damn late.” Bucky holds up their still linked hands showcasing the purpling finger.


	3. Don't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a Sarah centric chapter with a look into her relationship with Bucky. There's some violence/mention of rape so beware.

1924

Sarah Rogers sits at her kitchen table in the afternoon glow of Brooklyn. She came home early to fix supper for the boys and get ready for her evening company. She idly fiddles with the wedding band she usually keeps on for the sake of her reputation. She knew when she came to Ellis Island the dangers of being a single woman, especially one with a child. The light from the window glints off the weathered silver. The metal means nothing to her just as the man who gave it to her had. 

_This is just the bitterness talking_ , she thinks. 

In the days of her fearless naivety she had thought she found a drop of love in the green hills of Ireland. What she found instead was her relentless abuser and the father of her two babies. The first had not survived, a boy, and when she became pregnant again she fled to America for the assurance that her next child could live. Alone and in Brooklyn she told those who bothered to ask that her husband had died in the Great War. Really, he was probably sitting in the same spot in the same pub drinking the same thing as he always had. Making someone else bleed for a sin they didn’t commit. 

Steve and Bucky come bounding through the door laughing. She slips the ring back on and greets them warmly, shaking off her thoughts. 

“There are my two favorite boys!” She kneels down to pull them into a hug. Steve is almost six and Bucky a year older than him. They’re flushed like they ran from wherever they were to here and as she pulls away she sees the bruise on Bucky’s jaw. “Darling,” She tilts his face towards her. “What have you been up to?” Bucky guiltily smiles back and shrugs.

“I fell.” He glances at Steve and they start giggling again. Sarah sighs and gets up to ladle soup into three bowls. Lately those two have been coming back always in some sort of injured state. Bucky with bruises or Steve with bloody knuckles. No matter her reprimands they continued to find ways to come home a mess. She corrals them to the table and gets them to sit still long enough for them to eat most of their soup.

When they finish, Steve and Bucky race to their evening spot on the couch. Like always, they sit at opposite ends, their backs against the armrests and their legs overlapping. She sighs hoping they’ll finish up their conniving and get on with heading over to Bucky's for the night. She doesn’t want Steve to see a stranger come over. Some of the women she knows don't care if their children are around so they bring the men back to their homes and simply tuck the babies in early.

When Steve was a baby she never did this but with him getting older and still getting sick so often it was difficult to make ends meet on her meager salary. She doesn't do it regularly but when money is too tight she finds herself at a loss of what else to do.

A couple years ago, a woman she was helping treat had told her a story before she choked to death on her own blood. It was about the woman's sister who had strayed from the family and began using sex for money. It didn't horrify Sarah to hear about it like it horrified the woman to talk about it. Sarah had learned enough from the whispered tale to get the wheels turning in her head. It wasn't as difficult as she thought it would be to get involved but she put off giving in for weeks. So instead she took on more wash and housekeeping jobs from the wealthier families on the other side of town but she found that she couldn't bear to leave Steve at Winnie's that long. She wanted to watch her son grow up. Eventually it didn't matter what she felt or how she thought it would change her. Steve would never know so there was no real harm in making a living. And if her husband had taught her anything it was that this was all she was good for. Why not put her only talent to good use? She knew now that that wasn't true but her undying resentment drove her forward. If anything her spite made her a better worker. Dedicated, even.

Once the boys leave for the Barnes' for the night Sarah changes out of her uniform into a nicer set of clothes and waits for the man to come to her door. She makes busy with tidying up nothing that actually needs cleaning. She notices her hands trembling, as they do nearly every time, and takes five deep breaths to get it to stop. When the natural remedy fails to relax her she opens up her top cabinet and brings down the bottle of whiskey. The younger brother of a man who died two months ago at the ward had given it to her as a gift of thanks for taking care of him. She takes a swig from the bottle and feels it burn on the way down. For good measure she takes another. As soon as the bottle is put back a knock comes at her door and she rushes to open it. He gives her a greasy smile as he pushes past her into the apartment.

“Hey baby,” He drawls. “You been waiting up for me?” He grabs her by the waist pulling her flush against him as he kicks the door closed behind them. It was seldom she did things like this, letting in any kind of stranger into her home. But she could only live off the hospitality of her neighbors watching Steve and helping her financially for so long. She never told anyone of the men she met on those late night streets. In all honesty, she didn't have anyone to tell if she wanted to. She always tried to keep her business away from where her son slept but sometimes the money wanted her to be here. 

Who was she to argue when her son needed fed?

“Of course, darling,” She forces a sweet smile on her face. “Been thinking about it all afternoon.” Of all the men and women she’d been with since she began this economic venture he, the man before her, had been the worst. He'd become a regular and an aggressive one at that. He had a penchant for roughness and tended to leave bruises on her arms and legs and sometimes, if she was too tired to fight, on her throat. She charged him extra for that but the pain and the marks were still there. Yet even in his brutality, he was still kinder to her than her husband had been.

He’d never been to her apartment before and claimed he wanted to see her as a little woman in the kitchen, taking care of him and what not. Every part of her screamed to refuse when he asked but he offered double. She still refused then he offered triple. So she wrote down her address and slipped it in his pocket with a smile then left home for Steve. She promised herself that with him it would be one time, no matter how much money he offered. Sarah’d had one other person here before when Steve stayed over at Bucky’s but she hadn't been as unpredictable and threatening as this man.

Still standing by the door he wastes no time in undressing her. He unbuttons her blouse and begins unzipping her skirt. Her hands trail up his arms on instinct allowing him to catch sight of her ring. She had forgotten to take it off when the boys left. The fear that races through her is paralyzing. Both of their wide eyes settle on the silver and then return to the other’s. Sarah’s, a mix of terror and apprehension, and the man’s, rage. 

“I thought I made myself clear,” He grits out slowly. “I asked for no married women. I asked for no widows. I didn’t want no whore with a kid. You were supposed to be untouched, all for me. So what the hell is this?” Sarah swallows and tries to let the lie come out but her throat is closing too tight too fast. She lets out a whimper instead and waits for the blow. He grabs both her wrists and shoves her away.

“I want my money back. All of it. From every time.” He snarls. 

“No, please,” Sarah begs feeling small and shaky. “I don’t have all of it. I don’t have money. I can - I can still do it. Please. It's no different. Please let me.” Sarah tries to get back in his space to convince him but he pushes her again, this time hard enough for her to collide with the arm of the couch, sending her toppling backwards onto it. She fumbles awkwardly to get up but he’s on her in a flash pinning her down. 

“Fine,” He whispers dragging his mouth down her throat. “Keep the money from before. But I’m not paying you for this one.”

“I don’t work without getting paid,” Sarah snaps in his face. As if she would ever dream of doing this for free. “Get out if you’re not giving me the money.” He only laughs against her chest while she writhes to get free of his hold. Her skin is burning hot and she can feel it prick with sweat. True panic sets in when she realizes he’s not loosening his hold and she’s not getting paid and all this surging together is making it hard for her to breathe. 

Some nights back in Ireland, when it was she and her husband in their small one bedroom cottage he would come home drunk from the pub and lay himself over top of her until she woke up then he’d do what husbands do with their wives. Sometimes, he didn’t wait for her to wake. 

The man on top of her now fights harder to keep her subdued than her husband ever had. After she lost the first baby she had stopped giving in to his forced visits. She violently kept him at bay and he grew tired quickly of fighting for it, at least in the dark hours. Once morning hit so did he. 

The man pulls her up easily and heads for the bedroom closest. Distantly, Sarah is slightly relieved that it's hers and not Steve’s. Still she squirms and kicks and has now resorted to screaming and biting. One particular bite draws blood, some sticking to her chin but most of it trickling down his right arm. She screams again hoping one of her neighbors will hear.

“Stupid whore!” He yells in pain. He drops his big arms from her and opts for pulling her hair with such force he effectively yanks her backwards in the doorway of her bedroom, throwing her on her back. She screams out in pain, masking the sound of the front door creaking open. She tries to get up but he kicks at her head. She can tell it isn’t full force just from the fact she’s still seeing straight but she begins bleeding from somewhere around her temple nonetheless. Then she attempts to push herself up on her elbows and continue to beg the brute before her when her eyes catch sight of a ghost white Bucky Barnes frozen in the front doorway. The heavily breathing man follows her sight line and sets in on him.

“What are you looking at, boy?” He bellows making Bucky visibly tremble. Sarah stumbles as quickly as she can to her feet and throws herself at the man.

“Leave him be!” She cries, casting her nails into his skin and down his arms trying to bring his attention back to her. He yelps but swats her off him too easily. 

"Just stay down!" He yells at her looking annoyed. She feels hysterical, breathless, and feral. She screams for Bucky to run, for Steve to run even though she can’t see him. But if Bucky is here then her son cannot be far behind. Bucky remains frozen in his spot watching the man advance towards him. In a moment of sheer gratefulness that the apartment is so goddamn small she takes the few steps towards her kitchen and lunges for a drawer producing a knife. Not her biggest one but she has no time to be picky. She turns and yells once more for the man, gaining courage.

“Touch him and I’ll kill you!” She musters as much power as she can in her voice and it's enough to get him to turn. He glances at the knife and begins to laugh. 

“Really?” He laughs harder, shaking his head and revealing his crooked, yellow teeth. “You ain’t gonna lay a finger on me. But this boy, your boy? He’s gotta learn not to walk in on a man and a woman. Isn’t that right, son?” He looks back to Bucky giving Sarah the opening to rush towards him and make her first swipe at the man. It catches across part of his chest and he yells out. She drops the knife and gets past him to pick Bucky up in her arms. She holds him as tight as possible and starts running down the hall, down the rickety stairs and out into the street. She can hear the shouts of the man behind her, the heavy footsteps coming after her but soon it fades as he decides she is not worth the trouble. Sarah doesn’t realize, of course, that as she runs through Brooklyn she is no longer being chased. Her adrenaline is too high, her heart beating too fast.

“Where’s Steve?” Sarah asks. She’s so frantic that Bucky has to answer five times for her to finally register it. 

“My house, my house,” He’s openly sobbing into her neck holding on just as tight as she is. Sarah doesn’t know where she’s running to but she keeps going and going until she can’t even recognize where she is. In the back of her brain she realizes that she's running through the city half dressed and with blood dripping down her face and a crying boy in her arms. _What a sight_.

“Mama!” Bucky wails against her over and over. If it were not for the mess of brown hair crowding her left cheek she would think it was Steve she was holding. His little nails dig into her skin and his tears soak her blouse.

“I know, darling,” Sarah cries right back. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Eventually she slows near a diner she’s never seen before and takes them inside. She sets him gently in a booth and sits next to him, shielding him from view of other customers and workers alike. Quickly, before they can get kicked out, she zips her skirt the rest of the way and buttons up her blouse. “We’re safe now, dear. We’re okay. It's alright.” Sarah keeps running her hand through his hair while they catch their breath and wipe their faces. A waitress comes over asking if they need anything, like the police for instance. Her green eyes are wide as she sees their state. Sarah shakes her head nervously. How is she supposed to explain what happened to the police? They'll take her away before they ever go looking for the man.

“Do you and your son want anything else? I can get you something to eat, on the house?”

“Can you please, um,” Sarah swallows and blinks her eyes repeatedly to refocus. “Can you please call someone for me. I can’t leave him here but I can’t let him hear the call,” Sarah pleads with her eyes hoping that in all her mess of sweat and drying blood the woman will take pity and do this for her.

“Alright,” The woman finally says after considering them for too long Sarah is comfortable with. “What’s the number? What do I say?”

* * *

Winnie Barnes answers the phone and when she hangs up she sends her husband to a diner three miles away to retrieve their son.

* * *

While George Barnes makes his way to the diner Sarah takes a napkin and wipes Bucky's tearstained face.

“Why did you come back, James?” Sarah croaks out finally feeling the rawness in her throat from screaming. She can also now finally feel the deep ache of her muscles from fighting and then running for god knows how long. “Why were you there?” Bucky has calmed enough to have sat up from his slumped form and is now leaning against Sarah, holding her like she’s the last person left on Earth. He has stopped crying but still sniffles every few minutes.

“I left my sister’s gloves. I was using ‘em. And I left them. I knew I wasn’t allowed to leave them. So I told Steve to stay and I went to go get them. I’m sorry Sarah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry Ms. Rogers. I’m so sorry I didn’t know!” Bucky begins to get hysterical again catching the attention of a few people close by so Sarah pulls him into her lap and rocks him back and forth.

“Shh,” She kisses his head. “It’s alright dear. Everything is fine. You’re fine. It’s okay.”

“Who was that man? Why was he there?”

“James Barnes...I need you to look at me and listen close,” Sarah waits for him to pull back and look her in the eyes. They’re full of tears and his little lip trembles. “I know that what happened today was scary and bad and awful. But you can’t tell Steve. He doesn’t need to worry. He doesn’t need to know. I don’t want him to.”

“But Sarah you got hurt. And you’re his mama, he’s gotta know.”

“I know he’s your best friend in the whole world. I know you must tell each other everything but I need you to do this, dear. It's just between me and you.” Sarah can’t bear the thought of her son knowing what happened. Shame coats her skin and fills her lungs at the idea. She imagines his little fists shaking and his bright blue eyes darkening with that inexplicable rage of his. She wants him, she has always wanted him, to have peace and live in a different world than Sarah. One without violent men and swinging knives. 

* * *

After George Barnes takes Bucky and Sarah back to their corner of Brooklyn he lets her stay the night on their couch. She tells him everything that happened after she kissed an already sleeping Steve goodnight. Winnie hovers at the edge of the living room looking almost as teary eyed as Bucky did when she put him to bed. George goes back to her apartment with his gun, just in case the man is lingering. He's gone for a long time and it gives Sarah a concerned crease in her brow that no soft words from Winnie can soothe. 

“It’s going to be just fine, Sarah,” Winnie pats her knee. “He can take care of it. Please get some sleep.” Winnie had washed the blood from Sarah’s chin and head and gave her night clothes to sleep in. She was so grateful she didn’t have to go back to her apartment tonight where there was undoubtedly blood on her floor. Winnie waits up with Sarah for George who returns three hours later. When he finally comes through the door he looks unmussed and perfectly bored. Like he’d just taken a stroll. 

“Don’t worry about a thing,” George walks over and awkwardly pats her on the head. It was a gesture, Sarah thought, that was more suited for a daughter. George was so unused to any other women besides his own family that he didn’t know how else to reassure Sarah. “Gonna be fine. Get some rest.” With that he and his wife retreat to their bedroom leaving her in the low light of their living room. She stays upright staring at the wall, still reeling from the day, when she feels rather than sees two blue eyes on her. 

“James.” She whispers. He comes around and cautiously steps towards her. He still looks shaken but more so concerned than anything. Just like Steve would be but perhaps softer, more seeking the root of the issue than blind anger seeking to punch it away.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers not looking her in the eye. He fiddles with his fingers and sways a little, looking like he’s been caught in the act of something. Sarah's heart cracks from his unnecessary guilt. It was her fault, all her fault.

“Stop saying that. There is nothing to be sorry for. Come here,” She opens her arms and he instantly falls into her embrace. “You saved me today, James Buchanan Barnes. I mean that. You saved me.”

“I didn’t do nothin’.” He sniffles. She shakes her head letting a ghost of a smile grace her lips.

“You did. Nothin’ good woulda happened if you hadn’t shown up,” It was so often Sarah found herself counting Bucky as an extension of her own, as her lost baby, as her other son. Moments like these that were just them, intimate and full of a unique kind of love that was different than mother son yet just as strong made her realize she meant more to the world than she thought. Steve gave her meaning and purpose and value but Bucky gave her something more human that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She wasn’t a god to him like some mothers are to their children. She was purely human and in need of returned love. And if there was one thing Sarah could guarantee Bucky Barnes was good at, it was love. She only believed that more the older he grew and the closer they got. After a silent while Bucky drifts out of her hold and tells Sarah he can't leave Steve alone all night. Sarah smiles and shoos him away.

She doesn't fall asleep until she can see light peaking through the curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter title is/is going to be a song title/lyric so stay tuned :)))))  
> Ch 2: The World is Smiling Now - Jim James  
> Ch 3: Don't Let Go - Adam Taylor and bonus song because it's beautiful and fits perfectly: Memories of Sarah - Daniel Kaede  
> And the title of this fic is taken from Lana Del Rey's 'When The World Was At War We Kept Dancing'
> 
> Also if some of the details about Sarah's life are blurry its because it'll be discussed more later or I'm saving it for a side fic solely about her.


	4. To Live A Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just like my mother  
> We both love to run  
> Chasing impossible things  
> Or unreachable dreams  
> Lie awake in the night  
> Thinking this can't be right  
> But there is no other way  
> To live a life alone

When Steve wakes up the next morning he kicks Bucky as he stretches. He doesn’t mean to but now that he's done it he does it again, this time with real purpose.

“Hey,” He nudges his shoulder. “Wake up.” Bucky stirs but doesn’t open his eyes. Three more kicks later and he’s sitting up straight with the world’s most unimpressive scowl on his face and a mess of hair sticking out every which way. 

“God, Steve,” Bucky rubs his hands over his face. “Can’t I get any sleep around here?”

“No.” Steve answers simply. He eyes Bucky as his little hands fall away from his face. Steve sees that his eyes are puffy like he went to bed crying. Not the first time he’s seen Bucky wake up like this but usually they go to bed together so he knows the reason. Now, since Steve fell asleep before Bucky came back, he doesn’t. He knows he went to his apartment to get his sister’s gloves but then Winnie told him that Bucky ended up stopping by Willy’s on the way back. Steve got angry that Bucky would just leave him like that and see another friend while he waited in his bed but no matter the rage he couldn’t resist the pull of sleep and the wrap of the quilt Winnie gave him. 

“Stop staring at me like that.” Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve.

“You were crying last night. Did Willy decide he doesn’t like you no more?” Steve crosses his arms, feeling the irritation come back full force as he remembers his lonely night.

“Huh?” Bucky asks with wide eyes. “What d’you mean?”

“Willy. You went to see him last night after you got your gloves. That’s what your ma told me.” Steve explains with a stiff shrug of his shoulder. He’s trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt but he can still feel the anger seeping through. He watches Bucky’s eyes cut away and refuse to look at him, his shoulders slump and he looks like he might start crying again.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers as he, predictably, begins to cry softly. “I didn’t go to Willy’s.”

“Where’d you go?” Steve asks getting worried and concerned over the change of attitude.

“I was with your ma.” Bucky moves forward and grabs Steve in a hug. He holds him close while he sniffles into his bony shoulder.

“Oh,” Is all Steve says because he doesn't quite know what to make of that. Bucky begins mumbling into Steve’s still night warm skin making his chest tickle from the hot breath on him. “Can’t hear you, Buck.” Bucky shifts and lifts his head up to look Steve in the eye. He repeats himself. Steve doesn’t understand at first, the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth but it sinks in and weighs him down. Steve doesn’t mimic Bucky’s tears, he only clenches his fists and sets his jaw as Bucky goes on with an impossible story of yelling and blood and a stranger standing over his mother. He doesn’t even let Bucky finish telling the story before he shoots out of bed intending to race home and get to his ma. He doesn’t have to get that far, he realizes, as he almost rushes past his mother’s form on the couch. 

“Ma?” He shakes her awake, filled with adrenaline and worry and undiluted shock. From here he can see the gash on her head and his whole body shakes. She opens her eyes, wincing a little as she tries to focus. “Ma, wake up.” Steve shoves her harder. He knows he should be more gentle but he can't seem to get a hold of himself. He has to know, he's gotta know if it's true. He's never had any reason to think Bucky would lie about something like this but he's hoping he is.

“Steve, Steve,” Sarah sits up and grabs his hands to keep him from shaking her around. “What is it?” She pushes messy blonde hair back and licks her lips. She looks like she does any other day except for the bruise-like bags under eyes and the dried blood in her hair that Winnie must have missed when she cleaned her up. “What’s the matter?”

“What happened?” Steve manages to say after studying his mother close. His breath quickens at the sight of the lingering blood and he starts to panic as his thoughts crash together.

“Missed you, came to sleep here.” She offers him a small smile. Steve, even as young as he is, can recognize every one of Sarah’s tells.

“You’re lying.” He snaps and his mother sits up straighter looking like she's about to reprimand him a good one.

“Steven-” 

“No, Bucky told me. I know you’re lying.” Steve feels his fingernails digging into his skin as he clenches his fists somehow harder than before. Finally, he feels tears prick his eyes. “Ma…” He lets them fall as he stares back at her. She sighs and he sees her eyes get glassy all at once.

“Steve, I don’t know what to say.” She reaches out for him and he pulls back, too angry and frustrated and confused to be touched. He feels some of the tension subside when his guilt surfaces at the look Sarah gives him. He tries to unclench his fists, set on trying to reach for her in apology but he still doesn’t fully understand and that alone stops him. He looks down at the ground and tries to piece together the state of his mother in front of him and what Bucky told him. When he looks back up he sees Bucky peaking around the corner watching. Sarah hasn’t noticed so she reaches out to her son once more and runs her shaking hands up and down his arms. 

“Bucky told me that - that the man was telling you to stay - stay down and you didn’t. And you didn’t,” Steve runs a trembling hand lightly over the gash on her forehead. “Why didn’t you stay down?” Steve’s quiet tears then turn into loud, halting sobs.

“Because,” Sarah begins with a wrenched heart. She feels her own breath quicken and her skin heat up with nervous sweat. _He wasn't supposed to know._ “And you listen close Steven,” She pulls his chin to get him to look at her and waits for his cries to quiet. “You always stand up.” Sarah shakes as she says it but she knows it's the truth, the best truth she can ever give to her son. She thinks of herself at seventeen, just married and already dodging blows from the boy she thought was her everything. She thinks of hitting him back even when she knew it would result in more pain. She thinks of her mother telling her to just be a better wife and then it would stop. She thinks of walking out of her childhood home screaming over her shoulder while her mother sat at the table drinking tea and shaking her head, both of them knowing Sarah was never coming back. She thinks of bringing her son into this world and doing everything but tearing the sun out of the sky to make it work for them. She thinks of the man last night and the raw fear on Bucky's face as he watched his best friend's mother get thrown around. 

_You always stand up._

Steve watches a tear slip down her cheek and catches it before it reaches her jaw. He brings his little hands up to cup her face. Her own hand falls from his face to place both her hands over Steve’s. He wants to respond, wants to keep asking questions but he can’t seem to find the right words. So instead, he leans forward to rub their noses together and cries harder when their foreheads touch. He can’t quite tell through his own wails but he thinks she’s crying too. Eventually he falls into her arms and she rocks him while he let’s himself cry. He doesn’t care if Bucky’s watching or if he’s waking up the whole Barnes family. He cries and cries until there’s nothing left in him. 

When his body is empty and tired Sarah carries him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Live A Life - First Aid Kit 
> 
> One more chapter and we'll start moving towards Steve and Bucky as a little older and not so much wiser;)


	5. Truth Is A Beautiful Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To hold your heart, to hold your hand  
> Would be to me, the greatest thing  
> To hold your heart, to hold your hand  
> Would be to me, the bravest thing

Steve ends up kneeling on the ground sobbing into his hands wailing about the injustice of it all. Sarah is taken aback, breathless, and even somehow a little frightened at the strength of his naked emotion. This is her son hurting and feeling deeply the wrongs of the world around him. He’s got blood on his hands from hitting something, an all too common occurrence these days. He is nine years old and raging far too greatly for his young heart.

She lowers to her knees too, reaching her arms around his skinny frame. She holds him until he stops shaking and the cries turns to sniffles. He hugs her tighter the longer they stay close.

“Ma,” Steve mumbles into her chest. Sarah pulls back to look at him. She cups his little face and wipes tears away with her thumb. She studies the sunlight falling over his mussed up hair and wet cheeks. The light brightens his blue eyes even through their redness. “They started beating on him. They were hurting Bucky and I had to stop them but I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Why were they hurting him, Steven?” Sarah asks. 

“They got mad he kissed me. It was only on the cheek ma, but they started laughing. Then they started teasing us. So Bucky stood up and swung at ‘em and they started yelling and swinging back. What’s - what’s wrong with him kissing me? Why were they so mad?” He looks up at her innocently and full of something she can't place. It isn't anger or sadness. It's something more akin to tiredness, exhaustion, and confusion.

“My sunshine boy,” She says around her sad smile. “Some people in this world are so blind to love they feel an inexplicable bitterness about it that turns them to hate. Sometimes they’ve been hated themselves and that makes them feel like love can’t exist. But other times, Steven, they’re selfishly taught that there is only one way to love and that all others must be wrong.”

“Is that true?” He asks biting his lip. She can tell he's nervous about the answer she'll give.

“No,” She states firmly. “Love is in everything. It's impossible to have it one way.” She watches Steve work through understanding this. He sniffles one more time before straightening himself up. Sarah has seen her boys kiss each other before. Bucky is always pecking Steve’s cheeks when he leaves to head home. He told Sarah once it's rude, his mama says, to leave without saying goodbye the right way. Sarah had asked him if perhaps his mother meant that because she was his mother he was supposed to kiss her goodbye and that it was different with Steve. But Bucky shrugged and said, “I love him too, why should it be different? Do you want me to kiss you too?” Steve kisses Bucky’s hands a great deal, a habit he learned from Sarah herself who was always kissing Steve’s constantly scabbed knuckles. Some evenings when she scoops soup into three bowls, _Bucky dear, isn’t your mother wondering where you are? No ma’am, Becca has all these girlfriends over I’m not going back til they’re gone_ , she watches them bump each others shoulders and whisper jokes they think Sarah can’t hear. In her heart she is endlessly happy that her son has someone like Bucky but even deeper down she has this gnawing fear about their future. The older they get the more inexcusable their behavior will become and those scraps on the playground will become brawls in dark alleys. Sarah will be the last person to take her son’s happiness away, but is it worth more than his life?

“Steve,” She begins softly. “Does Bucky ever kiss you anywhere else?” A blush creeps over Steve's cheeks and for a second Sarah is a little embarrassed herself for even having to ask. She knows the answer. She knows her own boys.

“Sometimes,” He whispers so quiet she hardly catches it. He looks down at his bare knees on the floor almost ashamed. “I know you say it isn’t wrong but everyone else does. He only does it when we’re alone, honest.” Now it's Sarah’s turn to let tears slip down her cheeks. Steve watches one, two, three drip onto the wooden floor before he looks back up at her. "Are you mad?" He looks worried and it breaks her heart in two. He remembers his mother’s words then that he should always stand up but he can’t for the life of him bear getting off his knees. Even now at so young Bucky Barnes does something to him he can’t understand.

"No," She immediately responds. “I love you, Steve, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Just be careful. This is a cruel world that won’t let you love each other like that.” Sarah rests her forehead against Steve’s. It's such a familiar position, a gesture between the two of them that lasts through the years. They remain like that for an eternity, silently crying but keeping close to one another as the sunlight moves across the room. Steve cries less and less these days, opting instead for fury or confusion.

From then on Steve and Bucky’s touches fade away, saved for moments of privacy Sarah assumes. What she doesn’t know is that they stop because the fear becomes too much for Steve. He is sick of Bucky being hurt for him. He can take a beating all day himself, but at Bucky he draws the line. He isn't stupid, he grows into understanding why it can't be. But that doesn't make it hurt any less for either of them. He thinks Bucky knew about it for longer but wasn't ready to let go.

He starts talking to Bucky about Clara who sits two seats in front of him or Jenna who sits right behind him and without missing a beat, because he knows and he realizes, Bucky does the same thing. They go like that for years, forgetting their childhood nonsense by locking it away. Stuffing it like a five year old's messy drawing under a pillow, beating it back with scabbed knuckles and a heavy heart. At fourteen Bucky goes on his first date with Theresa Fleming, a tall girl with almost all black eyes and long red hair. Three months later Steve tries his luck by going out with a girl named Eliza. When he walks her home and they’re saying goodbye at her door he leans down to kiss her hand with that tight awkward smirk of his. When he puts his lips on her knuckles he closes his eyes and for that split second Bucky flashes through his mind. Steve wills the image of floppy brown hair and newly discovered sharp cheekbones away. When he looks back into those green eyes of hers the anger only mounts and mounts until he’s walking away with hands shoved deep in his pockets. He tries to tell himself for the two weeks they see each other that green is better than blue but all his brain really registers is the _it should be him_ that follows the self told lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth Is A Beautiful Thing - London Grammar


	6. Since You Last Felt Like You Were Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I may have dreamt it  
> Or it may have happened  
> When I stood right here  
> Waiting for a sign  
> For me to walk away  
> But I give in so easy  
> And I give up instantly  
> I chase what is gone  
> And my friends are gettin' tired  
> Of the shit that I pull  
> They say, "Why do you love those  
> Who turn you into a fool?  
> Why do you let them get to you?  
> You should have been running  
> When you chose to stay"

When Bucky is sixteen he comes home from Steve’s and holes himself up in his room. Steve came down with something bad a few days ago and Bucky has made it his number one priority to be there for him until he's back to good health no matter how much Sarah bugs him to just go home before he catches it too. Still, Bucky spent the evening holding Steve’s small cold body close and on the way home he felt himself let frustrated tears slip down his cheeks. Every goddamn year he gets it bad. And the way he looked tonight...he didn’t even open his eyes once. Not even when Bucky regaled a terribly dirty story that normally would’ve made Steve pop a blood vessel.

A knock sounds on Bucky’s door and he merely grunts in response as he lies back in his bed, pillow smothering his head. Becca cracks it open and peaks through.

“Can I come in?” She asks. When Bucky makes no move to respond she comes in and shuts the door behind her. “They’re fighting in my room again.” They being their two younger sisters Georgie and Ruth. Bucky feels the bed dip where Becca sits down at his hip.

“Kick them out.” Bucky mumbles in support. Their younger sisters are perpetually fighting these days and more often than not the disaster zone happened to be the girls' shared bedroom, which Becca called her’s regardless of the fact that all three of them were crowded in there. She felt she held greater claim to everything in the house since she was the oldest girl. She even felt that way with Bucky. She knew him first so she got to bother him more. She is thirteen and starting to grow into someone dangerously pretty and crushingly smart. Sometimes when Bucky and Steve walk her to school he gets a little worried for the next few years. _Jesus, how many guys is he gonna have to beat up then?_

“You’ve been at Steve’s all week. Is he feeling any better?” Becca prods. When Bucky doesn’t respond, _he’s tired damnit_ , she pokes him in the ribs. “Huh?”

“No,” He says tossing the pillow on the floor and crossing his arms protectively over his ribs to prevent another assault. “He’s still pretty bad.” Becca looks at his face skeptically.

“You been crying again, Bucky?” She squints at him.

“Why’d you say it like that?” 

“Because you’re always crying.”

“Shut up!” He knees her in the back but she only giggles. “I’m not always crying. You are.” But that's a lie. Bucky hasn’t seen her sister cry since she was a toddler.

“Sure thing,” She rolls her eyes before letting her face sober up. “He’s really that bad?”

“Yeah.” He whispers. His smile disappears and Becca looks anywhere but her brother. In the silence that follows, Bucky’s thoughts drift to Steve. Maybe Sarah got him to sit up and eat some of the supper she made. He shivers to think how he probably hasn’t even moved. God, he wishes he could be there. “I might go back over there. Their place is goddamn freezing and he’s so small.” Bucky sits up.

“What’s that?” Becca twists her body to snag a folded up piece of paper that rests in the spot where Bucky was laying. Bucky makes a grab for it but Becca is up in a flash running out of reach to get a better look. Bucky chases her in circles around his room.

“Give it, you brat!” Bucky hollars. _Is this how Steve felt that day when they were five?_ Becca just giggles and opens it up. When she sees what it is her face scrunches up in confusion.

“I don’t get it,” She says still lunging out of Bucky’s reach. She keeps dancing away from Bucky as she studies the picture. Then her gaze catches on the five year old scrawl of a name at the bottom of the page. _Steve_. Then her eyes flick back up to the funny drawing and it clicks. “It’s you?"

“Beck, give it back! You’re gonna rip it!”

“Do I look like I’m gonna rip it? No! God!” She lets out a loud breath. “Here,” She folds it back up and gives it to him. “I don’t know why you’re hiding that. It's cute.”

“I wasn’t hiding it.” Bucky says casting his eyes down. He picks up the pillow he threw on the floor earlier and places it back on his bed and stuffs the precious drawing back under it. He pats the pillow twice for good measure.

“How long have you kept that there?” Becca gapes at Bucky.

“I’m not- I don’t- I mean it doesn’t,” Bucky stutters as he looks back and forth between the shocked look on his sister's face and the pillow that safeguards the picture. “Get out of my room.” He shoves her towards the door. She grabs on to the door frame for support so Bucky can’t completely kick her out. 

“Why are you so red? Steve drew that didn’t he? What’s the big deal? I don’t get it! Are you going to cry again?” Becca chatters on as they struggle against each other.

“Get out!” Bucky yells. Becca squeals one last, “But I just don’t get it!” before she surrenders and lets him slam the door in her face.

* * *

Two days later Becca sneaks into Bucky’s room and unearths the archaic portrait of her brother. She’s seen Steve’s drawings before, he’s even done some for her. But this early work of his puts a funny smile on her face. She sits on Bucky’s bed looking at it and thinking of all the possible reasons Bucky would keep it underneath his head every night. She can’t really blame him for hiding something there, she had that tick too. She is currently keeping a note from Willy Gardner under her pillow where her two nosy sisters won’t see it. Sometimes at night she takes it out and, even though she can’t read it in the dark, it makes her feel warm to have it close.

And that's when she stumbles upon a thought.

 _Oh god_ , she thinks. _Oh god, oh god, oh god_. Her mind flashes to the past week her brother has been spending with Steve and quite honestly his whole life. She thinks of the moments they spend tangled on the couch when Bucky invites him over, of the way they stand so close together and walk shoulder to shoulder everywhere they go. She thinks of all the times she watched them hold hands when they were younger and how jealous she got, even though that part was beside the point. She thinks of the billion and one looks she’s seen her brother give Steve and Bucky's red rimmed eyes when he came home a couples days ago from Steve's. She thinks of how mad Bucky was that she found the drawing, how red his face got.

“What are you doing?” Bucky’s voice comes from his doorway making Becca jump. She guiltily stammers in an effort to make an excuse but realizes she has no excuse as she clutches the drawing. She sees his hands trembling as he rakes one through his hair. He comes walking over to her tossing his books on the floor not caring if they land wrong and their pages get bent up. Then he tears the picture out of her hands and repeats himself, “What are you doing?”

Finally she stands and with a little shame painting her cheeks she looks up at him. He looks mad as hell but worse he looks scared, more scared than she has ever seen her big brother. They're standing pretty close, close enough for his nervous breathes to land over her. She rubs a hand over her face while her mind buzzes a mile a minute. She's feeling sick from the confrontation.

“Bucky,” She chokes. And for the first time since she was three years old Bucky sees real tears in her eyes. His anger subsides leaving room for the fear and confusion. But he’s quick and he knows in an instant what she’s thinking. She slips past him going for the door but he grabs her arm.

“Becca, please.” He begs. She looks back at him over her shoulder letting a single tear fall as her lip trembles.

“I get it now,” Becca whispers through the low light. “I get it.”

* * *

Bucky leans against the doorway waiting on Becca to find her red scarf. Since Steve is still out sick he’s taken to actually acknowledging his sister when they walk to school together and since the awkward run in last night he’s feeling especially eager to have a talk with her. He just wants a chance to explain, to straighten the situation out and get her to understand. _He’s my best friend, it ain’t like that, see_.

“Let’s go!” Bucky calls as he looks down at his watch. It hasn’t worked for a couple weeks now but a habit is a habit. 

“Stop yelling.” Winnie Barnes chides as she brushes out his youngest sister's, Georgie's, hair. She sticks her tongue out at him and he copies the move earning a disapproving glare from his mother. 

“Becca’s taking forever and a day, we’re gonna be late.” Bucky knocks his head back against the door frame and readjusts the books on his hip. Last night after Becca left his room he stood in the same spot for what felt like an hour just holding Steve’s drawing. The burn in his throat had him thinking the nasty thought that maybe it was time to get rid of it. But he knew he could never do a dumb thing like that. There was a reason he kept it so close. Eventually he swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped at his stained cheeks before crawling into bed and thinking about how his sister knew his deepest darkest dirtiest secret. He cried, silent but endlessly, until he found sleep believing that she probably couldn’t even look at him ever again. How could she possibly bear it? Looking at him and knowing he was sick in the head? He's known for a long time now that what he feels is wrong. Dangerous. But it just won't fucking go away.

“I’m coming!” Becca comes into view in a flurry with her red scarf tied around her throat. “Come on, let’s go.” She says stepping past him through the door. He trails behind her for a long while as he gathers how he wants to start the conversation.

“Hey, sister?”

“Yes, brother?” Becca answers without turning her head. She just pulls her scarf tighter as a light snow dusts over the streets of Brooklyn. There’s already a thin layer of it on the ground crunching and slushing. Soon it will be Bucky’s birthday. 

“Can we, um, talk about something?” Bucky’s stomach is in knots as he tries to read his little sister’s mind. She doesn’t respond so he takes it as a cue for him to continue. “It’s just that last night…” 

“Bucky you don’t have to do this, okay?” Becca stops in her tracks and turns to face him head on. She bites her lip and brushes a stray strand of hair back with a gloved hand. She's started using her mother's old curlers to look like the rest of the girls at school. It's in this quiet moment she looks just like his mama and the worry settling in his bones only mounts. She shakes her head and grabs his left hand, the one without the books in it. “We don’t have to say a word. I’m not telling anyone, not Mama or Dad, not Georgie or Ruth. Not Steve.” Bucky chokes when she says Steve’s name and looks at his shoes as he pushes some grey slush around. 

“It isn’t like that.” He mumbles, feeling every muscle in his body tense up at the lie. He feels like he’s ready for a fight. Ready to pull some stupid kid off an even stupider Steve in some alley.

“Don’t lie to me, James Buchanan. If there’s one person you ain’t lying to it's me. No one else in the world knows right?” She asks sternly leaving no room for deflection. A beat of heavy silence hangs between them as he bites the inside of his cheek. _So this is it?_ he thinks to himself. Bucky finally, reluctantly nods in response, laying it all out. There’s no going back or denying what he’s been pushing down his whole life. If there is one person in the world who should know it has to be her. It certainly is never going to be anyone else in the family, and most definitely not Steve. He could never do that to him. “So?”

“So what?” Bucky raises his shoulders to his ears in a shrug.

“How long have you loved him?” She asks gently. Something about the look in her eyes nearly brings him to his knees ready to confess it all. She still holds his hand tight and only squeezes tighter the longer he contemplates. She’s looking at him like nothing has changed, like he’s the same boy she knew. Bucky gives her a watery smile.

“Forever, I guess.” He says looking her right in the eye. And if that isn't the truth. Bucky doesn't even realize how true it is until he says it. He's really loved him since the start of time. 

"How long have you been in love with him?” She tilts her head. Her cheeks are pink from the morning chill. And he struggles to find a response.

“What’s the difference?” He asks licking his lips nervously. 

“Well, you love me too. So there’s the difference. How long have you been in love with him?” She asks again.

"I,” He pauses looking down at their hands. He shakes his head. What kind of question is that? How could he know and how could he not know? Of course he loved him and of course he was in love with him. But if not forever then when had it all started? When did his heart decide it was time to move in to the palm of Steve’s hand? “You ever seen someone that makes you feel like your skin is painted gold? When you hold their hand you feel like there ain’t nothing in the world but the way their fingertips feel on your skin? Or when they look at you it's like everything vanishes. The sun and the stars and brick buildings and potato soup are all gone. It's just him. It's just him, Beck.” Bucky shakes his head and watches some younger kids walking down the street on their way to school like him and Becca should be doing.

“Forever then, huh?” She quirks her lips into a sweet smile.

“Forever,” He laughs darkly. “I’ve been in love with Steve Rogers since forever.” The admission allows relief to flood through him like the first drink of cold water. Someone finally knows and he feels lighter for it.

“Will you ever tell him?” She asks letting her smile slip away.

“How could I? I’d ruin everything,” Bucky feels his eyes welling up with warm tears. He tries to will them away but the cold is doing him no favors. Becca makes a noise as if to say 'no you wouldn’t' and then pulls him in for a hug. They stand together while he gathers himself then when he finally does he pulls back and smiles at his little sister. “You’re alright kid, you know that?” She laughs and rolls her own watery eyes.

“Let’s get going, we’re gonna be late.” She holds his hand all the way there and even though it isn’t the same warmth or size of Steve’s Bucky feels safe and more loved than he has in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing Has To Be True - First Aid Kit


	7. But You and All Your Vibrant Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At seventeen, I started to starve myself  
> I thought that love was a kind of emptiness  
> And at least I understood then the hunger I felt  
> And I didn't have to call it loneliness

1935

Sarah is working a double at the ward and Bucky is boxing, something he started taking up on a whim and turns out he’s good at it. Steve isn't surprised, he was always so effortlessly athletic. Bucky told Steve this morning that Becca was going to stop by with the groceries Sarah had no time to get and Bucky had no time to get but Steve had all the time in the world to get. Regardless, everyone felt they needed to do things for Steve even when he insisted he could do it. It might have had something to do with Steve’s new job for an ad agency that turned out to be more demanding than he realized it would be but Steve still feels coddled and makes a point of fighting against it every time someone does something like this. Bucky still has a big bruise on his thigh from when Steve shoved him into the kitchen table two days ago when he brought home shaving cream and a razor. To be fair, Bucky was in no position to be buying things for Steve when he couldn't afford shit either. 

“Hello!” He hears Becca call through the other side of the door as she gives a short knock. Steve drops the colored pencil that he’s using, labeled like all the others by Bucky so he could tell what color he was using since his own eyes couldn’t do it for him. 

“Come in,” Steve says a bit too prickly. “Sorry, Beck, come in.” He says a little nicer as he walks over to her while she creeps in with two stuffed bags. He takes one off her hands and places it on the table next to his latest project. As she places the other one down he eyes her dark looking lips, he can’t see that it's red but he knows that it is. “You’re wearing lipstick now?” He cocks a brow.

“Well,” She blushes. “Don’t tell Mama.” He can’t help but smile as she gives a mischievous giggle. He thinks she looks a little too old, it makes him feel strange to see the little girl who sasses Bucky on a regular basis looking like a woman. But she looks beautiful and he gets a weird feeling when he tells her as much.

“It looks good, Becca. You look beautiful.” Steve gives her his trademark awkward smile and she blushes deeper.

“Jesus, Steve,” She bites into her red lip. “Make a girl feel special.” But her tone is tight at the edges like she wishes he hadn’t said it. He looks down at his hands feeling the micro-rejection. He bounces back in a second as he moves to unload the groceries.

“Anything good in here?” He asks pulling out cabbage and potatoes.

“Just the usual.” She sighs.

“You know you don’t have to do this.” Steve sighs right back.

“Well come on now, Steve. You know I’d do anything for you.” She promises. He watches her unpack with her small smile and thinks how much her and Bucky look alike. She’s got those big blue grey eyes and pretty nose and full lips. He gets warm thinking about how much he loves that on Bucky but isn’t allowed to. And as shitty as this thought is, just for a moment, he thinks how good a solution it would be to just love Becca. He’d be getting Bucky in a woman. That thought drives him forward and before he can mentally gut punch himself he grabs Becca’s cheeks and kisses her hard. He hears the shocked squeal in the back of her throat as he moves his lips against her. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull back, in fact she’s frozen in place. When he pulls away her perfect lipstick is smudged and her eyes are impossibly wide. He feels the apology slipping out before he can process he’s even speaking words.

“Oh, Beck, I’m so-”

“Let me think.” She cuts him off and takes a step back. She eyes him intently and he realizes this is probably the longest they’ve ever held eye contact since they’ve known each other. “Alright, now, you listen good. I’m gonna do this for you once then we ain’t ever talking about it ever again and we ain’t ever doing it again. We’re not telling Bucky. You are not going to tell Bucky okay?” Steve nods fervently and with parted lips. He can't think straight enough to understand what she's saying. _He just kissed his best friend's little sister_. Becca takes a step back into his space and brings her thin fingers to his cheeks. She kisses him soft and quick like she’s trying it out. He breathes a little harder, because damn, _she's so soft_. Then she goes in for something deeper and before Steve can get his hands on her waist her tongue is slipping into his mouth. She’s taking full control and something tells him she isn’t even thinking about how it's Steve that she’s kissing. She backs him up against the table and pulls him tight against her. Unsatisfied with the position she hauls him back to the couch in the living room and pulls him on top of her. 

“Beck-”

“If you wanna stop then make me stop but if not shut the hell up.” She says in one breath before moving to unbutton his shirt. Bucky flashes through his mind and his body goes still. He can’t do this to him. No matter what the world wants him to do he can’t be with Becca like this. And it's not just the fact that they grew up together or that it's Bucky’s little sister. He can’t be with her because he doesn’t love her but more importantly because he loves someone else and this feels too dirty and too personal. He pulls back and looks into Bucky’s eyes. _No, Becca’s_. 

“You know that I…” Steve trails off as he gets off her. He isn’t sure what he wants to say he just knows he has to undo this.

_You know that I can’t do this._

_You know that I love him._

She stays laid out for a beat before she stands and gathers herself. She lifts a hand to wipe the lipstick from his lips. It's a sweet gesture and his chest tightens from it. He wants to return the favor and clean hers up but she's pulling out of his space before he can do it. 

“I’m a bad person.” She whispers with a trembling lip. No tears come but her body shakes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I just wanted to feel....And you’re so sweet I thought...But Bucky lo-” She cuts herself off and strides to the door leaving without looking back even when Steve calls out to her. He stands in the lonely silence of the apartment reeling with the tingle of his lips then turns to walk into the bathroom to wash his face. For good measure he changes out of his wrinkled shirt then goes back to working on the ad, picking up the pencil labeled red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunger - Florence and The Machine


	8. The Last Stage of Consumption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten and defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak; beauty out of sorrow.” -Sylvia Plath

1936

Sarah walks back in her nurses uniform. Her feet ache but really her whole body aches, the coughing does nothing to sooth the heavy feeling falling over her trembling bones. It's been hell in the TB ward and she feels like she hasn’t slept in days. And if she's honest, she hasn’t. But somehow she manages to get back to her small Brooklyn apartment where she expects emptiness and quiet. Bucky is working down at the docks and Steve is trying out a shop job since his one with the ad agency fell through. She climbs the stairs slowly, her body feeling weak. She grips the railing until she reaches the door then slips inside. Once she makes it through the front door and closes it behind her she leans her back against it, letting it take her weight. Then her tired form slumps to the floor, eyes fluttering shut. It must not have been such a graceful slide to the floor because the thud of her body brings two worried figures speeding towards her. Her mind tries to process who they are but she finds herself too tired to bother.

“Ma,” A voice speaks out. It's far away but it sounds worried. Maybe scared? She can’t tell but she knows it sounds like green fields and rolling hills. Sounds likes home and Ireland and white lace curtains. She feels a smile creep up on her face. The voice calls again and she desperately clings to it, some part of her knows that she has to. But she is too tired from the long day and her uniform is stifling and starting to make her sweat. She thinks for a moment that she should start working on undoing the buttons but her arms are so heavy and that voice won’t stop chattering at her. “Ma, come on, you okay? You gotta get up.” She thinks distantly that she _knows_ the voice, it's dear, floods her with a bit of warmth that doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

“Stevie, Stevie, come on give her some space. She looks bad. God, Ms. Rogers, Sarah. _Jesus_. Steve I said stay back. If she’s sick you're gonna catch it, go.” This voice sounds different, not anything like Ireland. Rather it sounds like brick buildings and cracked sidewalks and playing ball in the street. It's a rough sort of comfort that makes her feel like sleeping. She watched a woman die today, choked on blood and faded away. Sarah had wiped her chin and lips clean before pulling the sheet over her head, eyes stuck open. _Yes,_ she thinks, _it's a good time to sleep._

Faintly Sarah thinks her body might be moving, but it's certainly not of her own accord. It must be one of the voices carrying her away. Before her mind can figure out where she is and where she is going she is placed softly on a bed, maybe her bed. Then a sheet is brought around her shoulders making her squirm. The heat is too much. Her movement must catch the attention of one of the voices because it's promptly pulled back followed by a mumble of something her muddled brain cannot decipher.

* * *

“Steve,” Bucky starts, walking slowly out of Sarah’s room to take a seat across from the crumpled figure at the modest dining table. Just minutes ago they were sitting there sharing leftover soup and laughing at something Bucky can’t even remember now. He can only think of the way Sarah looked, covered in a layer of sweat and sucking in labored breaths. Her uniform looking worn but not as worn as the sinking lines on her face. And her lips offering no color. She looked like she was _dying_ , she looked like a ghost. And Steve, God, the look on Steve’s face when they found her on the floor. The look on his face when Bucky pulled him away, not letting him make contact with the hand he was reaching for; pure terror, pure heartbreak. Bucky knows what this could be. _What else?_ And if Steve gets this he’ll be dead in no time. That isn’t something Bucky can or ever would be able to handle. 

“Steve,” Bucky tries again putting his hands over Steve’s. They sit across from each other, Bucky's knees under the table holding Steve's. There is nothing on his face but a pale blank look, like he’s trying not to think about what lays in the next room over. “I’m gonna call for Mrs. Sh-”

“Bucky please,” Steve cuts him off. Sarah coughs from the other room, drawing tears to Steve’s eyes. He is barely eighteen and he knows that his mother must be dying, she is. He knows it. He listens to her cough again, this time louder and longer. She's been so tired lately, so lethargic. He knew this was coming. He catches the tightening of Bucky's shoulders, as if he wants to get up and check on her but doesn't want to leave Steve. "Just, just leave it for today? Let's let it be, let's wait, huh?" But even as Steve says it he knows they can't, his heart still doesn't want to to hear a diagnosis. He feels a betraying tear trail down his cheek. Bucky wipes it away before it gets too far. 

“Stevie, come on,” Bucky seems to follow Steve’s train of thought. He looks pale, Steve notes. His face in that ashen state of overwhelming worry. It makes his eyes look bluer than they are. “We’ll get her better. We’re gonna figure it out. We don’t even know what she’s got. Maybe she’s just overtired. Overworked. You know your ma, always breaking her back.”

Steve just eyes Bucky in silence, he knows he doesn’t even believe that. Steve pulls his hands back and leans away from Bucky’s pleading eyes. He can't look at him any longer. It's starting to hurt more than hearing his mother in the other room. Bucky never gives him pity, but here, now, he looks at him with cow eyes full of _sorry_. Or maybe Steve is being Steve and just looking for something to be mad at because the alternative is to let the terrible ache of sadness and truth wash over him.

“She works in a TB ward,” He whispers. “I guess it was bound to happen.” He buries his face in his hands, the anger leaving him. There is not enough energy in his body to house both emotions. He doesn’t hear Bucky’s anguished cry choke in his throat, or when he gets up scraping the chair loudly over the floor. He doesn’t feel it when he comes and kneels beside Steve and wraps him up in his arms. He doesn’t even feel him rubbing circles on his back or hear him whisper affirmations of love and support in his one good ear. He only feels himself sink straight through the floor into the ground and beyond any rescuable point. He had no father, just a second hand memory and even that was always hard to grasp. He only had Sarah and now she was slipping away. He always thought it would have been him first. He would’ve gotten a bad bout of pneumonia and died and left her and Buck in the world. 

But it’s her. How could it be her?

* * *

During the following months Sarah is bedridden in the ward she used to work at. For her years of service there they give her a room that they don't make Steve pay for. Bucky comes to her aid and companionship. It would be Steve, and often it is through glass or a silly mask he refuses to wear (Bucky shoves it over his mouth anyway), but his own health prevents him from getting too close too often and he’s forced to step back and let Bucky do the hard parts of watching her deteriorate every day. What Steve doesn’t know is that Bucky goes there twice everyday even sometimes three if he can make the time. He checks on her in the morning before work making sure the nurses are looking well after her, she never wakes up for him then, only sleeps with her mouth hanging open. If he has time in the afternoons he eats lunch with her. Sometimes, when he occasionally does this she’ll be normal as ever. Her afternoons are her best times. She sits up and smiles and tells him stories. And in the evenings when he gets off from work he makes a stop to see her before heading home. She looks the worst then, greying and tired but too afraid to go to sleep, especially as the days wear on and her symptoms worsen.

But the stories keep them both going. Steve gets to hear some of them but those ones are always much different than the ones Bucky gets when he's on his own. With Steve she recounts stories he already knows, good memories they can both smile at and laugh over. With Bucky he gets ugly, beautiful honesty and brutal glimpses into a past he never knew existed. Sarah tells Bucky of her childhood in Ireland, her parents and their childhood farms. She remembers standing on the edge of a cliff outside their cottage seeing misty fog in the mornings. When she was little she wanted to jump into it. She thought it could take her somewhere else. _I suppose it did one day_ , she says to him, _just not exactly where I thought_. 

She tells him of the boy she met at sixteen and fell in love with. She tells him his real name, not the english _Rogers_ that her and Steve had adopted but something deeply Irish. She tells him about their wedding day on the cliff just after the morning mist disappeared. And she tells him of her husband's mother dying and him drinking because of it. It takes her a few weeks but eventually she tells him about the fighting and the beatings and the loss of her first baby. It was a boy. 

He grips her hand dangerously tight as he listens to that part, his heart pounding so hard he thinks it might burst. His mind races back to when he was a little boy and walked in on her being beaten by a stranger. He imagines Sarah, alone and crying and bleeding out while her husband slams a door and leaves. Oddly he feels no fury, just absolute misery that a woman who shines this bright had to suffer so deeply. He bites back a sob in favor of listening on. The least he can do is give her his attention, she deserves it and so much more. It's so clear in the edges of her voice that these are things she's told no one and will never tell anyone else. 

She continues with her narrative by telling him how she managed to leave Ireland with half her husband’s money and her mother’s fine jewelry. She tells him about her baby growing inside her, the one she did it all for. When she was young and hurt and scared and alone she left the mist of her cliff and came to America. She tells him how frightened she was to have Steve, to care for him. Even as he grew she found herself afraid that he would die any time because of how poorly she took care of him. She tells him how often she cried herself to sleep because she knew she wasn't giving him all that he deserved. As little as he was, he was always too big for Brooklyn. That part Bucky already knew. 

She tells him how she made money those first few years, the jobs she had to do while she got her footing as a nurse. She finally explains who that man was all those years ago, why he was there in her apartment kicking her head in. Bucky feels fury then.

She tells Bucky about the letter her mother somehow managed to get to her from Ireland that announced her husband had died, beaten to death behind a pub after saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. She admits to him that all she felt was relief when she read those words. She tells him where the letter is hidden and requests that when she dies he will burn it so Steve won’t ever know. She tells him she doesn't even know why she kept it all this time. 

Bucky, in all his loyalty and love for Sarah Rogers, does exactly as he’s told. Taking the tin that harbors the letter from Sarah's closet back to his house for safekeeping. He tells himself he'll burn it the soonest he can. He promises he won't ever tell Steve, not like when he sold Sarah out for that day all those years ago. The one that left her sleeping on his couch with blood sticking to her golden hair. Eventually he asks her why she’s doing all this, telling him everything and not Steve. She replies back with a tired smile, “Because you look at me like you want answers. He looks at me like he already has them.” He supposes that it’s true. Would Steve change, would his heart be altered if he knew the truth? Would his sense of pride waiver? His ambition for justice wane? What would he do if he learned his father wasn’t a war hero but an abuser? What would he do if he found out that his father had beaten his mother so badly once that he lost a sibling? 

Bucky takes the secrets of Sarah’s life and promises himself that he will die with them.

* * *

The last few days seem to pass by in a breath. Bucky skips work to be by her side when he knows it's too dangerous for Steve. If Bucky isn’t there to limit his exposure Steve’ll sit with her dawn ‘til dusk. It's agony for all of them but it's Steve’s _life_. Bucky’d be damned if he lost both of them in one year. 

On the third day Bucky walks the streets of Brooklyn to the TB ward, something he’s done a hundred times long before Sarah got sick. Him and Steve would come to walk her home some nights or pester her at lunch in the summertime. His shoes scuff against the sidewalk and it’s the only noise Bucky can hear, his feet humming on the cement. When he reaches the ward he feels his stomach twist. He told Steve to meet him there, _it had to be today_ , and Steve needed to be there risk or not. He waits outside for Steve to come from work. When he arrives they don’t speak or touch, only head inside. Just before they reach the door to Sarah’s room Steve stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“Wait,” Steve gasps and Bucky sees his body start to tremble. Steve comes to see his mother every day just like Bucky but he hardly ever _sees_ her, at least not for long. Only watches her through glass. Sometimes sneaks in when Bucky slips out or when Bucky can’t bring himself to separate the mother and son. “I’m not-”

“It’s okay Steve,” Bucky lifts his other hand to brush back Steve’s scruffy hair. He couldn’t be bothered to do it this morning. “You don't hafta be ready but we gotta say goodbye.” It breaks Steve to hear Bucky say that and now his whole body is shaking, teetering on the violent side so Bucky wraps him up in his hold and whispers things to him that Steve can’t comprehend. Steve pulls away just enough to look up at Bucky, they're so close they share breaths. 

"I can't let go," Steve whispers. He searches Bucky's face, sees his eyes fill with tears, watches his lips part. Bucky blinks and turns his head slightly away like he's trying to will himself to get it together. Steve fists his hands, grabbing at the fabric of Bucky's jacket too tight. "I don't wanna let go."

"I know, pal." Bucky nods and looks back at him. He gives Steve a minute to steady his breathing, clear his head and then they're heading into the deathly quiet of Sarah's hospital room. A nurse looks up at them and wordlessly leaves. As she does she places a hand on Bucky's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Steve is too busy looking for a sign of life in his mother to notice the silent exchange. 

Steve goes to her bedside and takes a seat on one of the provided chairs. He instantly grabs his mother's hand, brings it to his mouth to kiss, rests it on his cheek. She murmurs something and Steve responds with a resolute, "I'm here." It makes her open her eyes. When she catches sight of him she smiles.

"Sunshine boy." She whispers weakly. The old nickname pulls tears from both boys and Steve hardly finds the voice to speak again. When he does he rambles on about the sun being bright and lovely today, even though the sky is really a pale and unattractive grey. 

Bucky holds her other hand in both of his and listen to her shallow, gravelly breaths. He counts them and he counts the time in between them. He has never been with someone until their death. His grandmother died during his lifetime but he did not witness it. Here, though, he watches her blue eyes fail to focus on anything but Steve, hazy and uncertain. Steve runs out of things to say after fifteen minutes, letting the quiet take over again. Bucky watches her lips move like she’s still telling them another story, maybe she is. She fades in and out and after four hours she stops whispering and stops clutching his hand back and stops breathing. It takes another hour for Bucky to move. He lays a hand on her forehead, lets it slide down to cup her cheek. She is nothing like he has ever felt in his life. Not warm and buzzing with love. Not smiling like she's just discovered a beautiful secret. Not tickling his side like he was her son all along. 

Not anything. Just grey. Just cold.

He looks at Steve for the first time in hours. Nothing on his face gives him away, he looks like he's already bottling it all up, saving the grief for later. He still holds his mother's limp hand against his cheek and won't tear his eyes away from her face, not even when Bucky calls out his name. He doesn't move and Bucky doesn't force him to. He stands and leaves them.

In the hallway he slumps against the wall and allows himself to cry over the death of Sarah. He wishes he felt at peace knowing she wasn't sick anymore, wherever she was. Maybe if there was a heaven then she would be happy there. No more violent men or boiled cabbage. No more coughing up blood or sore feet. 

Just a green field outside a white cottage, leading to early morning mist at the edge of a cliff. Bucky can see it, can see her hand reach out for it. He can see her fingertips disappear into the wall of fog. He pictures that smile, just as bright and as beautiful as Steve's, lighting up her whole face. He can see her taking a step right into that mist, taking her away to someplace beautiful, never to be seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Last Stage of Consumption - Lowercase Noises


	9. Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if I could forget you, you know I would leave  
> I can't help myself from feeling all this is wasted on me  
> And I love the rain, but I can't live in a storm  
> I've got more to come  
> Still learning to grow  
> What were you thinking? That night was a dream  
> At the top of your lungs, I hear you screaming, no sleep  
> And I know you don't mean a thing, I just get lost in translation  
> So, how much is enough gonna take?  
> I got a lifetime to wait  
> Seconds can't bury me

1937

Bucky sits down next to his sister on the couch where she leafs through a book he’s seen her read a dozen times. She bites her lip feigning interest in the words before her even though Bucky knows she's just waiting for him to interrupt. Bucky left for his family home straight from work not bothering to visit Steve first or let him know of his stop. He needed a break, a breather from those blue eyes and soft skin. Since he moved in after Sarah's death it was agonizing to watch him and be with him everyday and not get to touch him or love him the way he really wanted to. He pushed his limits as much as he could but there were boundaries, to be sure, and it tore Bucky up to stick to them. Especially on nights when Steve would take his hand and lead him to bed after they sat together on the couch, one of them reading, one of them sketching. The first month they shared the same room, same bed, neither were ready to face Sarah's room or move Bucky into it. After awhile it didn't feel right to be apart anyway, so Bucky stayed. Then rent began climbing too high and the boys couldn't keep up, no matter the backbreaking jobs Bucky pulled. So they moved into a one bedroom, Bucky had jokingly marked their heights in the doorway to the bedroom causing Steve to roll his eyes but didn't say a word. Some nights it drove Bucky absolutely crazy having to sleep next to him, even to the point he vowed he would sleep on the couch. But then Steve would sense it and let out a cough and beckon him back with big blue eyes.

"You're hoggin' the bed, Rogers." Bucky would grumble, half off getting ready to flee to safety on the couch.

"Stop being dramatic and get over here. I'm cold as fuck." Steve would throw back. And for good measure he usually reached a hand out to make a grab for him, adding in a yawn and everything. It warmed Bucky up but got him annoyed all the same. Steve was a manipulative shit. Bucky never ended up sleeping anywhere else on nights like those. When it was a bad day Bucky would stay out late with a girl to put off having to torture himself. Those days usually started off with a bad morning, something along the lines of Bucky waking up achingly hard and not being conscious enough to drag himself away from Steve's curled up form. In the mindless moments between sleep and awareness he would hold Steve close, tight against his body almost like they were lovers and like it was okay to wake up like this. Then he'd feel Steve stir and the resulting friction usually woke Bucky up enough to remind him to get a hold of himself. 

Bucky sighs as he looks over at his sister. His father is working long hours, his mother doing the wash with a few other women down the block. Sometimes they liked to get together and do it with company. Georgie and Ruth are at an after school club meeting of some kind that Bucky can’t seem to remember what it is. He scolds himself for not knowing a basic detail about his family's life.

“Where are G and Ruth these days?” He casually asks smoothing down his shirt.

“Jesus, Bucky,” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look up at him. “How many times do I have to tell you? They’re at a theater group thing. Ruth wants to be an actress now,” Bucky smiles, _of course she does_. Becca looks up at him with a rueful smirk. “Where’s Steve these days?”

“Oh, um,” Bucky licks his lips. He knows exactly where he is but he didn’t really want to discuss him. He came here to be with his family only to discover it was just a lonely Becca curled up on the couch with a book. He wanted a distraction, _needed_ a distraction. It was one of those mornings that began with Bucky unknowingly grinding his dick into Steve's sleeping ass. He felt like a jerk but mostly he felt empty. So yeah, Bucky had come here for his dear family to take his mind off the beautiful boy waiting for him at home. Something that didn't involve taking out and fucking another girl he could forget about the minute he came home to Steve. That was the hardest part. Coming home from them to him, standing at the stove, sketching on the couch, reading at the table, sleeping half dressed in their bed. It's not that he didn’t like the girls, he really did, some of them were friends. Smart and funny as hell and so damn beautiful it hurt. But no one was Steve. No one was ever gonna be.

After a minute Bucky just shrugs his answer.

“What’s going on? You two fighting or something?” Becca puts her book down and sits up to examine her brother. She notices how tired he looks, how much older he's _been_ looking.

“No, it’s just,” Bucky sighs and rubs his face with both hands. He debates telling her, wanting to keep it inside so that he doesn't feel any pressure admitting anything. But she looks at him like no one else ever has, not even Steve. Like she wants to know and she wants to help. Like it matters to her as much as it matters to him. “It’s gotten so hard. I really thought I could - I really thought I could do it. But we sleep in the same bed _every fucking night_ ,” Bucky feels a lump in his throat form and wills it to go away. He doesn’t want to cry right now. He doesn’t want to come home to Steve with red eyes. “I thought I could push it away or grow out of it. Or kiss enough girls to make it go away. But it hasn’t and I can’t stay but I can’t leave him.” Becca doesn’t say a word she only scoots closer to him and runs a hand through his hair comfortingly. She watches him struggle to regain his composure before speaking again.

“Some nights when we’re laying together I imagine it's different. That he feels the same way and that’s why we’re holding on to each other, not because it’s cold or he’s sick again. It's just because we want to. I imagine it so much sometimes it feels real. Sometimes I feel him hold me tighter, put his lips on my neck. But it’s not real. I know it's not real.” Bucky shifts forward so he's resting his elbows on his knees. As he says it he can practically feel Steve's soft, pink lips grazing along his throat, his hot, wet tongue darting out to lick him. It's happened, he knows that it has but he can't rationalize it any further than Steve just being gross, weird Steve. He's never meant it the way Bucky wants him to.

“Bucky you can’t keep tormenting yourself like this. You should tell him.” She encourages. 

“Rebecca, if I tell him then I hafta leave.” He screws his eyes shut as he forces the words out. Like it's a truth he doesn’t want to admit. He's pictured telling Steve a thousand times in a thousand different ways but every scenario ends with him walking out. Even in a daydream Bucky can't get what he wants. 

“No you don’t.” Becca bites. Bucky snaps his gaze to her, not expecting the force of her words. She looks stern and serious, completely convicted. 

“How do you know that?” He asks in a whisper. He’s still pushing down sobs, willing himself not to cry. He pinches his thighs to ground himself but the lump won't go down. He feels a betraying tear blur the vision in his right eye.

“Because he needs you. You need each other. Don’t deny either one of you that," Becca sighs. Bucky nods in acknowledgement. "Now no offense but...you really are the world's biggest crybaby."

"Oh, come on." Bucky rolls his eyes, pushing out the rogue tear.

"What? You want me to lie to you?" She shrugs her shoulders with wide questioning eyes making the tension crack and getting Bucky to let out a loud laugh. He feels infinitely lighter.

"I'm," Bucky pauses. "I'm going home." _To Steve_. Bucky gets off the couch and heads slowly to the door. When he turns back all that famous Bucky Barnes bravado is back as he quirks a devilish grin. "Not that I don't wanna help ya make supper, Beck. But I know how much you like doing the cooking all on your own." He sends her a wink and then vanishes through the door. 

"Yeah, love you too!" She calls out to the empty apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take care - eden


	10. Nostalgia

1937

Bucky walks the streets of Brooklyn back to his apartment where Steve is undoubtedly waiting up for him, at least that's what part of his brain is wishing. The other half is hoping that he's passed out and won't hear Bucky come in. But he can't really be sure which Steve he wants to come home to, his head isn't all that clear at the moment. After leaving Becca he still couldn't find it in himself to race home, no matter what was said. He was halfway there when his thoughts crept back up on him. So, he turned on his heel and met Don and Rick down at the dock. He knew they were still sitting around getting ready to get drinks or meet dames or whatever it was that they were plotting to do tonight. Turns out it was just drinks and Bucky was more than okay with the opportunity to get trashed without worrying over some dame on his arm. He went out with them and drank and altogether was shit company which the guys did well to remind him constantly of. 

He finds himself hardly sobering up on the dark, lonely walk home. There's a sharp chill in the air that sticks to his bones and makes him feel breathless and vulnerable. He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, something he slipped off a drunk earlier. He hasn't been able to afford his own in months. Bucky puts one between his lips and leaves it there for another block. He doesn't have a lighter on him but he hazily thinks he likes the feeling of it in his mouth anyway. After a few more fumbling steps he sees a couple giggling and grabbing at each other as they walk past him. He ignores it with a sneer but then realizes they might be of use.

"Hey," Bucky calls out turning to face them. They freeze at the gruff sound of his voice, looking a little scared. Maybe Bucky is a sight right now with his intoxicated dishevelment and cruel face but he doesn't give a good goddamn. "Got a light?" The girl looks to her date and tugs on his coat. Bucky thinks he hears her saying they should go and get out of here but he's too busy shifting impatiently on his feet to catch it.

"Please?" Bucky runs a hand through his hair sighing. Finally the man steps forward and offers up a box of matches. Before Bucky can return it, _hell_ , before he can even open it they're walking away. "Don't you want this back?" He holds out the matchbox but doesn't even get a look over the shoulder in response. Bucky isn't used to being this threatening to other people and it startles him, leaves his stomach a little queasy. Well, maybe that's the liquor. He strikes a match and lights the cigarette still hanging from his mouth then flicks the match away from him. The first inhale clouds his whole brain up, paralyzing him for a few long seconds. Then he's taking slow drags as he walks the rest of the way home, breathing in that smoke without a second thought to the fact Steve will be breathing it in whether he likes it or not when they end up curled up together in bed. 

_God, he feels like shit for ditching Steve tonight._

_And, God, he can't wait to get next to that slim little body and wrap his arms around him until morning._

Bucky shakes his head and exhales a puff of smoke. Even when he means to get his mind off of Steve he can't get his damn mind _off_ of Steve. He tries to recall the things Becca said to him earlier and if they even really mattered. If any of it really mattered. All his useless fucking pining was weighing down his body day in and day out making him feel weak and shitty and like the worst best friend in the world. Bucky angrily tosses away the cigarette and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He makes it to his building and crouches down in front of it for several quiet minutes. He hears car horns and distant laughter and even a dog barking but none of the noise is grounding Bucky like he needs it to. He needs something to bring him back to Earth and all of a sudden he's fucking mad at himself for drinking and causing such a rift in his own damn head. He finally eases himself off the ground, conscious of the fact his left leg is slightly numb. Then he makes his way inside to get some tangible evidence that he still has two feet on the surface of this planet, pining be damned.

* * *

Steve wakes up to the sound of Bucky fumbling around. It takes a minute but Steve realizes it’s still nighttime. He’d stayed up waiting for him, not knowing where he went off to for the evening. He figured it was a date or he saw his family or really god fucking knows what but either way he had stayed up past one in the morning for Bucky's dumb ass. He hears Bucky stub his toe and let out a string of muffled curses.

“Can you shut up?” Steve snaps at the wall he’s facing. At once the rustling behind him stops. He can picture Bucky behind him, probably half out of his pants and wide eyed.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles and Steve can register a hint of remorse in his tone. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Well you did,” Steve feels angry but doesn’t quite know why he’s angry. He sums it up to lack of sleep but a nagging part of him offers that it’s jealousy over where Bucky’d spent his time tonight. And the fact that he didn't bother to mention where he was beforehand. He opens and closes his mouth, thinking about asking where he's been but they’re both adults, right? He shouldn’t be such a nag. Bucky’s his own man. In the end that doesn’t deter Steve and he comes right out with it anyway. “Where were you?”

“Home - uh, with Becca.” Bucky replies with a slight slur. Steve scoffs but doesn’t give Bucky a response. He knows immediately it’s bullshit, not just because of the now evident fact that Bucky must have been drinking but also because Steve knew the distinct pitch of Bucky’s voice when he was caught in a lie. Behind him the bed dips as Bucky climbs in.

“Fine.” Steve finally gets out before shifting closer to the wall.

“What’s your deal, pal?” Bucky murmurs as he slips an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him back over. Steve squirms but can’t find it in himself to pull away. Bucky really is warm and the feeling of his bare chest against Steve’s bare back is making him dizzy. 

“Nothin’,” Steve whispers, giving in to the arm thrown over him and then letting out a gruff, “Missed you is all.” Bucky hums into Steve’s hair and tightens his grip. Steve can feel himself getting too warm despite the anger he's _trying_ not to let go, if at least out of spite.

“Fuck, I missed you too.”

Bucky nuzzles into the crown of Steve's head.

“Were you out?” Steve asks trying to ignore the way his body is reacting. _Jesus, Bucky's barely doing shit. How starved is he?_. He can smell the faint vestiges of a cigarette or two Bucky must have smoked. He's only seen him smoke a handful of times, usually when he's drunk. The scent mingled with the sweaty heat of his skin is winding Steve up.

“With some guys from the docks. Didn’t talk much with ‘em. Just drank. Had a shitty fucking day. Sorry I never told you where I was.”

“‘M not your woman, Barnes. I don’t need a check-in.” Steve mutters in the dark.

“I know, Steve.” Bucky sighs. Steve feels those calloused fingers trace circles along Steve's ribs causing a full body shudder to run through him. Steve is a little embarrassed and a lot aroused but shakes it off when he feels Bucky smile in his hair. Bucky is certainly the cuddlier one of the two but still, this obvious and unchecked affection is unraveling Steve by the second. He's so warm and so close and he hasn't seen Bucky since yesterday and he just _wants this right now, dammit_. So against his better judgement he shifts around to cuddle under Bucky's chin, tucking tightly into his side. Steve expects Bucky to do what he usually does when Steve gets this way, which is dramatically sigh and say something snappy, but instead he pulls him somehow closer without a word. Steve's nose rests at the base of his throat and his lips graze over Bucky's collarbone. Where he mouths at him he tastes salt and smoke and that incredible Bucky Barnes taste that's uniquely him. Steve sighs at the way he feels on the tip of his tongue. He's knows he's pushing it, taking it too far, but he's done it before without getting his ass kicked so he keeps going until he can feel the quick, shallow breaths Bucky's puffing out over his head. He swears he can hear him breathe out a choked _Jesus_ , but maybe that's just Steve's head getting the better of him. Before it can get too hot under the covers Steve stops and settles his cheek against Bucky's shoulder. 

“Tomorrow will be better, Buck. Get some sleep.” He whispers to the pale skin beneath him, feeling suddenly drowsy and minutely ashamed at his blatant actions. He shifts his body so that it seems like he's trying to resituate his face in Bucky's chest but he's really just trying to put distance between his erection and Bucky's thigh.

"Just like that?" Bucky huffs a disbelieving laugh. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Sleep." Steve presses. He can feel that Bucky's breathing has yet to return to normal but he doesn't do anything about it, instead he lets sleep and the feeling of Bucky holding him pull him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tezeta (Nostaglia) - Mulatu Astatke
> 
> This one was a bit of a filler chapter I'm kind of trying to throw some connecting pieces in here before we get to the Good parts ya know. Let me know what you think!!


	11. And I wish you all the love in the world. But most of all, I wish it from myself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For you, there'll be no more crying.  
> For you, the sun will be shining.  
> And I feel that when I'm with you,  
> It's alright, I know it's right.  
> To you, I'll give the world.  
> To you, I'll never be cold.  
> 'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,  
> It's alright, I know it's right.  
> And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score.  
> And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before

1938

Steve stands over boiling soup when Bucky comes through the door, tossing his jacket on the back of a chair. His eyes have a little darkness under them and his hair is falling funny on one side like he’s been napping somewhere. It's two years after Sarah’s death, two years since they moved in together. Two years since Steve fell asleep in Bucky’s arms after crying his eyes out for the seventh night in a row. Things lately have not been all that much better. Steve keeps losing job after job while Bucky just strains to take on more hours at the two jobs he already has to support them. It makes Steve feel useless and burdensome but Bucky never says a word about it. Only tells him he’ll find something that’ll stick soon and _don’t worry Stevie, there are more jobs out there_. Still, Steve feels anxious to prove to Bucky he can carry his weight. It also hasn’t helped his mood that Bucky’s started going steady with a new dame. He’s never stuck around one girl for longer than a few days but this one just won’t go away. The past two years it was just girl after girl and double date after double date trying to get Steve back into the world. After awhile Steve stopped biting and social outings became a lot more strained than they needed to be. Additionally, none of the childlike butterflies and fantasies were going away from Steve’s wandering mind, making it all that much harder to see Bucky with lipstick smeared on those perfect pink lips. He hated, he had decided, lipstick. He still managed to get in his touches and sweet looks at every chance he got. It was relatively easy to get away with, all things considered. But Bucky was naturally affectionate, he never said a word about Steve's behavior. Never. It was both endearing and annoying.

Steve scowls into the soup.

“Hey sweetheart, whatcha cooking up for me?” Bucky teases coming up next to him. Steve can smell salty sweat and cigarettes radiating off of him. It's an all too familiar scent and even though Steve can’t get within ten feet of cigarette smoke without coughing a fit it's dizzying to smell it on the heat of Bucky’s skin. Steve closes his eyes to let it soak in. 

“What’s it look like, dear?” Steve deadpans back.

“Smells alright.” Bucky sighs. 

“You okay? You look like you just crawled out from underneath Mr. Russo’s floorboards.” Steve narrows his eyes in mock suspicion. 

“Oh yeah, well, got outta work early so I stopped by, uh, Laurie’s.” He fumbles not looking Steve in the eye. Steve nods and drops the subject. He doesn’t feel like listening to the details of Buck fucking somebody else. He thinks back to a month ago when it was just them two, no Laurie in sight. They were sitting on the couch, Steve propped up and drawing and Bucky with his head in Steve’s lap lending the side of his face as a table for the sketchbook to rest on. Everytime Bucky smiled or tried to say something the sketchbook would move resulting in a kick to the leg from Steve. _Quit messing me up!_

“Listen Steve, there’s a-”

“I’m not going out with you two tonight.” Steve eyes him. Bucky has been trying to get Steve to go on a double date with him and this girl Laurie for three weeks now. He’s only met her a couple times and every time he’s been less than impressed. She was forgettable in every way and Steve could not understand why Bucky kept going out with her. He thought maybe because it was easy. She let him into her bed and that's all he needed. But Steve knew Bucky, there would be a new girl by next month. These things just didn’t last. They couldn’t.

“But she’s got this friend that's dyin’ to meet you. She said she really likes the artist type,” Bucky tiredly combs his hands through his hair trying to smooth it down on it's funny side. “Besides pal, I want you to be around tonight I feel like we never see each other anymore.”

“Buck, we sleep in the same bed.” That earns a laugh and Steve smirks along with him. It takes a few more minutes of coaxing for Steve to snap at Bucky to shut up about it but it's useless because once they start eating their soup Bucky starts in again. 

“I’m just saying, Stevie. You haven’t gone dancing with me in weeks. It's starting to hurt my feelings.”

“Dancing with you is different than dancing with the dames you pick out for me.” Steve says thinking about all the nights Bucky dedicated to teaching Steve to dance in the living room. He liked the way Bucky blushed when Steve pulled him tight against his body. He would snake his fingers under Bucky's suspenders, pressing his fingertips into the muscles of Bucky's back. 

“So I’ll save you a dance,” Bucky winks at him. 

“Buck.” Steve says. It's his final word on the matter. He doesn’t want to waste an evening watching Bucky flirt with his girl and then end up chatting up Steve’s date too since he never does it right. He picks up his empty bowl and starts cleaning up. Steve hates this life right now. The making dinner every night with no job because he got fired from his last one. No money for art classes and no money to replenish his dwindling supply of pencils. No time spent with Bucky but quiet squabbles over soup and restless nights in bed. 

“Alright fine. Don’t go.” Bucky gets up so quick the table wobbles and the spoon resting half on his empty bowl topples to the floor. He doesn’t even bother to look at it let alone pick it up as he storms out of the room. Steve makes an audible angry huff hoping Bucky can hear it through the thin walls. Then he cleans up after Bucky. It's not like him to treat Steve like his personal maid but whatever mood he’s sporting has got him in a selfish humor. Twenty minutes later Bucky comes out looking a little bit more put together with his hair combed back and a different shirt. He doesn’t say a word as he walks out of the door. For the rest of the night Steve busies himself with sketching in the last few pages of his book and when that runs out he decides to give in and get some sleep. He’ll look for jobs again tomorrow. 

It's dark but there's a faint light coming from the moon outside that lights up Steve’s face as he lays in bed. He’s been trying to sleep for hours but his mind won’t let him. He thinks about Bucky out with his girl right now. Dancing and drinking and maybe necking behind a closed door somewhere. Before he can stop himself he’s picturing Bucky’s hand slide up her thigh under a soft, pretty skirt. He imagines how breathless she might be and how that would make Bucky smile against her neck as he leaves bite marks. He gets this angry feeling whenever Bucky comes home from a fuck. It's sickly selfish and he can’t hold it against him but the irritation never once subsides. 

Steve rolls over towards the wall for the seventh time that night when he hears Buck come through the front door then stumble into the bedroom. As he’s loudly removing his clothes Steve registers the scent of half a dozen different things on Bucky; Laurie’s perfume, booze, sweat, sex, cigarettes, and something else mingled in there he doesn’t get a chance to work out before Bucky climbs in behind him. He must think Steve is asleep because he burrows in as close as humanly possible, wrapping an arm around him. He feels Bucky sigh against him and squeeze his draped arm tighter. His hot face is in Steve’s hair as he mumbles, “‘M sorry for not picking up the spoon Stevie.” Steve wishes he could laugh but he doesn’t want Bucky to know he's awake yet. And if he did laugh it would come out bitter anyhow, the lack of sleep and the agitation from earlier is creeping up on Steve making him want to elbow Bucky as hard as he can. Just when he settles on the idea of at least giving Bucky’s leg, which is currently thrown over Steve’s, a light kick he feels Bucky’s voice come again. 

“I’m done with her, Stevie,” Bucky whispers and he lowers his mouth to the shell of Steve’s ear. “Promise. She don't want me anyhow.” It takes every ounce of willpower Steve’s got to not shudder at the contact. His stomach flips and in one breath that boiling feeling he had a second ago is replaced with a rush of heat through his body. The effect is so instant, so palpable that he’s sure Bucky can feel his body inflame. And if the whisper and the brush of wet lips wasn’t enough to set ablaze every cell of Steve’s body the next part is; Bucky slowly, almost too slow to be real, presses an opened mouth kiss to the spot behind Steve’s ear. He keeps doing it, shifting a bit so he can travel his mouth around the area. It goes on until he nibbles at Steve’s earlobe and then finally Steve can’t bear it any longer. His body aches with how tight he's keeping himself to stop from giving himself away. He forgets everything from dinner and the past few weeks and turns his body around under Bucky’s arm. Steve sees his blue eyes widen a bit when he watches a very clearly awake Steve stare up at him. Whatever Steve was going to do, whatever he was thinking, he loses his nerve the longer they eye each other. His mother’s words come back to him and for a second he think he might cry.

“We’re not kids anymore, Buck.” He whispers glancing down at the pink lips that were on him a second ago. 

“Who says we gotta be?” Bucky’s brows draw together and, great, now it looks like he could cry too. 

“I’m saying you gotta know what you’re doing before you do it.” Steve warns but every part of him wants this.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Bucky is whispering but he sounds angry regardless sending a chill through Steve’s body. Before he can say another word Bucky pulls Steve’s body flush against his and plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth, quick. Then he does it again, slower testing him out. When Steve doesn’t say a word or move even an inch Bucky kisses him right on the lips. It's as gentle as can be and Steve can feel both their bodies shaking. He keeps softly kissing him until the innocence of it all wears off. They aren’t kids, they aren’t on the playground holding hands. They aren’t kissing cheeks or kissing knuckles and giggling. They’re taking heat from each other in built up desperation. Steve is the first to open his mouth and it makes Bucky gasp. 

“I just want you, _Jesus_ , I’ve always wanted you. My whole goddamn life. I wanted you,” Bucky rasps as Steve bites, licks, and sucks at all the skin he can get at. “I want you,” Steve sucks on his collarbone, “I want you,” Steve trails kisses down Bucky’s stomach not saying a word while Bucky repeats what seems to be the only words he knows anymore. Steve reaches the waistband he’s been dying to feel rub against his face. He’s seen Bucky’s underwear thousands of times but all of a sudden it's like he’s seeing something straight from heaven. He flicks his eyes up to see Bucky watching him with parted lips. Bucky’s got one hand soft in Steve’s hair, clenching and unclenching with the rise and fall of his chest. The other hand is pulling tight at his own hair, trying to steady himself. Steve waits, just stares up at him because he’s a shit and wants Bucky to beg and Bucky _knows_ it.

“Jesus fuck Steve, if you don’t put your mouth back on me I’m gonna -” Bucky lets the sentence die into a loud moan as Steve licks his hardness through the thin fabric.

“Like that?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky pants. He can feel Steve’s grin on him as he mouths at his cock. It feels like hours before he’s moving the fabric that keeps them apart then Steve’s mouth is back on him. But instead of wet kisses he takes Bucky in his mouth. 

“Shit doll,” Bucky moans unabashedly, tugging tighter on Steve’s hair. Then he starts letting out whimpers that make Steve reach a hand down to grip his own length to relieve some of the build. A moan hums around Bucky’s cock making his hips thrust forward. “Fuck, I love having your mouth on me. Stevie, ah god, feels so good. You feel so good.” Bucky keeps chattering between moans, and gasps, and whimpers. Steve can’t believe he expected anything less, not that he’s complaining, he’s getting off on it more than he ever thought he would. It isn’t long until Bucky’s sweet talk tapers off into shallow sharp breaths and cries. Then he’s coming down Steve’s throat and Steve’s taking it while speeding up the hand on himself letting his own climax wash over him. When they're both finished and watching each other breathlessly Bucky pulls Steve up next to him and brings his messy hand to his lips. He kisses and sucks it clean then moves to lick the rest off of Steve’s stomach. 

They fall asleep wound close together, completely inseparable and smiles playing on both their faces until the night takes them under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songbird - Fleetwood Mac
> 
> I know its a jump from the last chapter but I figured we've all suffered enough. You want a slowburn? Sorry kiddo this is as long as my heart could wait. And I also doubt that my stevebucky ass will be able to keep me from doing prewar fluff one shots anyway so:/ Make of that what you will!
> 
> And pleeeaaase forgive me for mistakes and errors throughout this if you find any I'm just one tired gal.


	12. Shortline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rushing water  
> One keeps to corner  
> Turn cheeks and shout out  
> On a short line  
> Women willing  
> Undress your heart-string  
> Follow your thick thin boy  
> On a shortline  
> Lets run to shelter  
> From Violence, for us that haven´t  
> Hold our tounges and fill our lungs

1938

It’s George Barnes that goes first on an early autumn day. Worked himself to death taking care of his three daughters and wife. Two months later Winnie Barnes follows him with a broken heart. Becca, graduated and working part time at a diner goes full time and takes on another job without telling Bucky so she can make rent so her sisters won’t have to. Bucky still pawns half he makes onto her for four months after the Barnes children become orphans.

After Winnie’s funeral Steve offers to take the girls home so Bucky can have a moment alone but Bucky doesn’t hear a word he says as he stares at the twin graves. Becca comes up to stand next to Steve, not taking her eyes off her hunched over brother. She's wearing the same simple black dress she wore to her father's funeral just a couple months ago. They're actually all wearing the same clothes they wore to George's funeral. It’s only Steve and the Barnes kids huddled around their dead parents. Georgie, twelve years old and sniffling into her bunched up scarf, pulls on Ruth’s hand.

“He’s gonna get his suit muddy.” She whispers to her older sister. 

“Hush,” Becca snaps. She watches him where he kneels in the uneven earth. He was always the most sentimental of the four of them. Where the girls were unmovable and stubborn Bucky was brash and emotionally unpredictable. “Leave him be.” She says to them before pulling them away. 

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Steve asks turning to Becca. It rips his heart out to think of leaving Bucky here alone but he asks anyway because he knows Bucky would want him to. She kisses Steve on the cheek. She doesn't wear any of her bright red lipstick, in fact her lips are looking impossibly pale and dry in the afternoon light. She looks like she hasn't slept in days and Steve thinks that she most likely hasn't since she's now the caretaker of her little sisters. It's the exact same way Bucky has been. Sunken and exhausted with a heavy sadness resting at the edges. No matter how close she looks to breaking, though, she remains composed, unlike her older brother.

“Stay with him.” She orders before guiding her sisters out of the cemetery. Once it's just him and Bucky left in the silence he steps closer and kneels down next him.

“It’s horrific,” Bucky mumbles. “How you can just...die from love.” Steve doesn’t say a word for a beat. Instead he runs a hand through Bucky’s slicked back hair tearing it out of it's perfect mold.

“She didn’t die from love,” Steve whispers. “She died because it went away.”

“And what about her goddamn children? Was there no love there?”

“I don’t know, Buck. It's different, I think. You know it's different.” Steve shakes his head and stills his hand. 

“Fuck that,” He bites. But the anger gives way to the need for comfort and he falls into Steve’s embrace. It's a couple hours later when Steve finally drags them up out of the mud and leads them home. They pass by Sarah's grave and say nothing. Steve doesn't even notice it until Bucky looks back over his shoulder with red eyes. "So we're both alone now, huh?"

"Stop it, Bucky. We ain't alone. You've got your sisters. I've got you." Steve wants to be gentle like Bucky was at his mother's funeral but Bucky has a nasty tendency to get grim quick when things take a dark turn. It's an almost imperceptible habit, one he never practices outside the company of Steve, but regardless, Steve doesn't want to let him go there. Bucky offers a noise of acknowledgement but doesn't say a word the entire walk back home. When they get in bed Bucky starts out with as much distance between them as possible but as soon as Steve registers the shaking he moves in close, wrapping himself around Bucky's trembling body. It was like this when his father passed, the silent tears that stretched into nighttime breakdowns.

"Steve." Bucky mumbles between sobs. "Steve. _Steve._ "

"I know, Buck," He whispers back. "I'm sorry, I know." Bucky turns around in his arms and tucks his mess of brown hair underneath Steve's chin, wetting Steve's collarbone with tears and snot and broken phrases of grief. Steve pulls the blanket covering them tighter and rubs circles into his back. After a few hours the sobs wane into tired cries that fade into sniffles that taper off into steady breathing. Steve can see the purple blue light of an approaching dawn peaking in through the curtains by the time he finally feels the exhaustion settle in his bones. Bucky remains motionless, puffing soft, soft breaths over the pale skin beneath him. Artist fingers lazily brush through Bucky's hair until Steve follows him into unconsciousness.

When yellow light streams through their bedroom in the morning both boys are entangled and unmoving, hands holding tight to one other's, legs intertwining and noses bumping after a mid-sleep shift brought their heads to the same pillow. They remain so close and wound together they trade breaths as day breaks. If they didn't appear so peaceful the position would look desperate. When two sets of blue eyes open and lock on the other, one pair of dry lips opens to speak.

"I love you." And the words are sweet and simple and floating in through the window just like sunlight.

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortline - RY X


	13. I Need Something To Hold Onto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the belly of the deepest love  
> The hills trembling throats sing hallelujah  
> Like the flowers on the dogwood tree  
> Blush with blame you took for me  
> Oh, how you wish to be with me  
> Oh, how you wish to be with me
> 
> I tried to get to you  
> But you came to me instead  
> With the dawn the grave is gone  
> Oh, how you wish to be with me

1939

“Hot as fuck today, huh?” Bucky tips his head back to let the sunlight land over his shining cheeks. They sit opposite of each other on the fire escape, taking in the falling sun of an August evening. It's that perfect kind of gold that seeps into his skin and leaves him buzzing with contentment. Steve is sketching and Bucky is failing to get through the first few pages of one of his science fiction novels. Usually he'd be halfway through it but he can't seem to focus with Steve looking the way he is in the sunlight.

“Take off your shirt then.” Steve says without looking up. 

“Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you?” Bucky gives him a knowing smile. Steve merely shrugs with a mischievous grin of his own before doubling down on whatever it is he’s drawing. “Whatcha working on?”

“Nothing important.” Steve runs his eraser over one part as he bites his lip in concentration. It rattles Bucky’s resolve to sit there and let him work in peace. All he wants to do is take Steve back inside and make love to him until they’re even sweatier than they are right now. He takes a deep breath instead.

“You look pretty serious about it.” He says as he knocks his right foot lightly on Steve’s hip. “Can I see when you’re done?” Steve nods in silence. They sit in the quiet for a few more minutes before Bucky can’t stand it. He’s too hot and too bored and too distracted by Steve licking his lips every thirty seconds to think of or do anything else.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, causing Steve to sigh and look up. “Wanna do something?” Bucky is fidgety, fingering the pages of the book he’s holding and looking expectantly over at his friend.

“Like what?” Steve cocks a blond eyebrow and closes his sketchbook around the pencil he was using. 

“We could go see Wizard of Oz. I don’t wanna sit here no more.” Bucky groans throwing his head back once more.

“We don’t got any money for a picture. Besides, we’ve seen that three times already,” Steve gripes. “Let’s just stay home. I don’t feel like doing anything.”

“Anything, Rogers?” Bucky gives Steve a look that makes his breath hitch. Steve watches Bucky bite his lip and lean forward with hooded eyes. “Anything?”

“I don’t know. I could think of one thing I’d be up for,” Steve hums as Bucky inches closer and closer. A hand traces a pattern on Steve’s thigh, teasing him as it heads up and down. “Might want to take it inside though.”

“Might wanna.” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s neck. He pulls away quickly, leaving Steve with a swell of summer air to fill the space Bucky’d been. He stands up and pulls Steve with him. They make their way through the window and stand in the unlit bedroom, their only source of light being the burning Brooklyn sunset. Bucky takes the sketchbook from Steve’s hands and sets it atop the dresser then makes quick work of the buttons on Steve’s shirt. 

“In a hurry?” Steve laughs. Bucky doesn’t respond with more than a sweet smile and a stilling kiss. Steve takes it as an opportunity to start on Bucky’s clothes. While they work on undressing their kisses get deeper and dirtier, sloppier and messier. Before trousers are even pushed to the ground they’re both slick with sweat head to toe. Steve pushes Bucky back towards the bed then climbs on top of him.

“I love it when you do that, sweetheart.” Bucky whispers as he bites at Steve’s jaw. Bucky lies back and pulls Steve over him. He brings a hand down over Steve's hips then onto his lower back. He pushes Steve down against him so their cocks can rub against each other. Steve grinds into him and brings his lips back over to Bucky’s. He doesn’t kiss him at first. Instead he licks and bites and sucks until Bucky is wet and red underneath him. _Jesus_. Then he opens his mouth up and fucks his tongue into him, earning a string of obscene moans from Bucky. Steve feels the shiver of his body as he slips a hand beneath them and reaches down to palm Bucky’s length through his undershorts. 

“More, Stevie,” Bucky pants. “Fuck, I need more.” Steve complies and moves his hand inside where he wraps his fingers around Bucky and goes to work. When Bucky is nearing the edge and arching his back Steve removes his hand and lifts his head up to get a look at the flush on Bucky’s face.

“Beautiful, Buck.” He lets a smile spread over his face.

“Don’t be sweet you little punk. Get back down there.”

“Since when are you so bossy in bed?”

“Since you decided to take forever and a day to get to it.” Bucky buries a hand in Steve’s hair yanking him in for a kiss. The other hand guides Steve’s back down. In the melting summer light they're desperate for the other, sinking teeth into flesh and tugging hair and exchanging gasps and fucking until the sun has long since left the sky.

* * *

“You know, I was doing the wash and I found your picture tucked into your pillowcase.” Steve says as he comes into the living room. He's tugging a white shirt on and smiling too wide for Bucky's liking.

“What? You didn’t tell me you were gonna do the wash. _What_?” Bucky perks up from his slinked spot on the couch with wide and worried eyes. The hands that were flipping through Steve’s latest filled sketchbook, picking out a favorite, immediately still as a blush warms it's way onto Bucky's cheeks.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. That picture from when we were kids. You keep it under your pillow, creep.” The smile on Steve’s face somehow grows bigger but wobbles at a corner, like he wants to tease but he’s also too pleased with himself to do so. Bucky sinks back down in his seat and stays quiet. He tries to go back to studying the sketches. His gaze particularly drags on one of two birds perched on their fire escape. One is colored a misty grey and the other is much smaller, colored blue.

“How long’s it been there?” Steve comes to stand next to him and pokes a finger at Bucky’s knee. Bucky shrugs but doesn’t say anything, hoping Steve will drop it and find something better to do than _mortify_ Bucky for his childhood tendency. He debated when they began regularly fucking if it was time to move the picture, hide it elsewhere. After all it was originally a symbol of his long suffering days of pining. But his heart couldn't stand the distance and he decided it wasn't hurting nobody if the picture stayed tucked close by. “Since you moved in?” Steve prods at his knee again, smile still burning Bucky's eyes. Bucky responds with a sheepish look. “Oh my god, you sentimental bastard. Have you been doing that your whole life?” Bucky goes somehow redder and hurls the sketchbook at Steve’s head. “You’ve,” Steve is laughing, hunched over but still trying to dodge blows from Bucky. “Been doing that, hey stop! You’ve been doing that forever?” 

“Shuddup.” Bucky sets his jaw and tries extremely hard not to break eye contact with Steve, daring him to make fun of Bucky further. This is usually how most of their physical fights start. Hardened stares of idiotic and unnecessary challenge. If Sarah was here she'd be rolling her eyes. Hell, Steve is here and he _is_ rolling his eyes.

“I think it's nice.” Steve settles next to Bucky on the couch. Bucky's still sitting with his knees pulled up as he leans against the arm of the couch so Steve wraps both his arms around them and rests his chin over top. “Really, Buck. It’s sweet.” Bucky rolls his eyes but a smile is tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, well.” He mutters and picks at a nonexistent thread.

* * *

“Stop fussing.” Steve tugs at the overgrown strands of hair. Bucky's been letting it get too shaggy for too long and if either of their mothers could see him now they'd be working up a fit at the sight. Bucky is seated in a kitchen chair getting fed up with Steve jerking his head around whenever he makes the slightest movement.

“I would if you were being fucking gentle. You’re gonna cut me up!” Bucky tries to turn around to deliver a scowl but Steve shoves his head once again.

“Oh, relax, would you? I’ll be sure to cut you up if you don’t stop fucking moving all around.” Steve gives a frustrated yet affectionate huff and cuts another lock off.

“Jesus, Rogers. I better not come out of this looking like Mark from Jason’s deli.” Bucky gripes. Steve laughs thinking of Mark with his messily uneven cut. It isn't his fault, really, his ma just started telling him he could cut it himself since he's a grown man. Mark was doing the best with the skills he had. Hair cutting just didn't seem to be one of 'em.

“You won’t,” Steve shakes his head. “‘Sides, I gotta make you pretty enough to look at for the first time in your life. If not I might have to finally leave your sorry ass. Jesus, you’ve been hard to look at these past twenty years.”

“You love the way I look. My hair could be down to my shoulders and I could have a beard and you’d still be shaking with lust in the corner.” Bucky growls out. Steve throws his head back to laugh at the picture of a hairy Bucky Barnes his brain conjures up.

“Yeah, why don’t you try that? We’ll see how that works outside of this apartment. You’ll look like a goddamn caveman.”

“You’d still fuck me.”

“Bucky, you could dye your hair red and get tattoos on your face and I’d still fuck you.” Steve takes another snip at the brown locks. Bucky makes a disgusted face but let’s it melt into a sneaky smile.

“Promise?”

“ _Don’t you dare_.”

* * *

“Let’s go to Coney Island.” Bucky says as he cleans out their bowls and puts them away. Steve sits at the table not lifting a finger to help.

“With each other?” Steve asks without looking up from his sketch. He's filling in a pair of lips with a colored pencil labeled pink. The shade is a little garish for the portrait of Becca he's drawing but Bucky let's him carry on.

“Yeah, you idiot. Who fucking else? Come on, get up.” Bucky comes around the table and nudges Steve's shoulder. Steve laughs at him as he slips the pencil inside a small canvas pouch Bucky brought home for him one day. _To keep all your damn pencils together. 'M sick of sitting on 'em all the time_.

“‘M not going on the Cyclone again.” Steve eases out of his chair. It was a warm Friday night, why not go out? Steve would take Coney Island over going out dancing. He hated watching Bucky dance around with strangers while he sat off to the side and watched. It wasn't that he was jealous, he just despised waiting in the wings for Bucky to come back for him. The only reason he occasionally still indulged Bucky with going dancing was because he loved it so goddamn much. Bucky was a beautiful dancer, always moving like he was gliding, like he was made for it.

“Oh, Steve it was one time. Odds are you’ll be fine now.” Bucky plants a kiss on the top of Steve's head and pulls him through the front door. Steve has a feeling odds has nothing to do with his nerves.

* * *

"Uh, Happy Thanksgiving?" Steve stands inside the door, moving to softly close it behind him. He's got a bloody nose and a broken finger and his clothes have certainly seen better days.

"Fuck you," Bucky crosses his arms as he stands in front of him. Steve was supposed to meet him back here after they both got off work to grab the poorly made pie they slaved over yesterday and then head to Beck's for dinner. Steve opens his mouth to, undoubtedly, make a shitty excuse but Bucky cuts him off with, "Seriously, Rogers. Fuck you." Steve closes his eyes and sighs, leaning his head back against the door.

"They started it, pal." 

"Bullshit. You've started every fight you've ever been in," Bucky huffs a dry laugh. "Go clean up. I'm not being late over your stupid ass. Jesus, it's a holiday for fucks sake."

* * *

“Happy Christmas you ungrateful freeloader.” Bucky leans back on the couch tucking his arm behind his head.

“Happy Christmas, Buck.” Steve sets the gift Bucky got him, _a leather bound sketchbook - what the fuck, Bucky_ , on top of the radio before climbing on top of his almost sleeping form. It's peaceful and so quiet Steve imagines hearing the snow fall slowly outside. There is nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. No one in the world he'd rather be with. He says _I love you_ in the kiss he presses on Bucky's forehead. He keeps his lips there a moment, feeling the warmth and breathing in Bucky's smell.

* * *

1940

“Let’s go on the roof.” Bucky bumps their foreheads together.

“It's fucking January. Do you want me to fucking die?”

“They’re setting off a couple fireworks for the New Year. Come on.” Bucky is buzzing with a raw excitement that wordlessly convinces Steve to agree. He let’s himself get dragged to the roof swathed in three sweaters, two pairs of socks, a wool hat, and Bucky's winter coat. Once they get up there and settle on a spot Bucky produces a bottle of champagne that Steve hadn't noticed he had.

“Where the fuck did you get the money for that?” Steve asks. Bucky shrugs a shoulder before popping the cork.

“Don’t matter.” He says with a shy smile as the champagne foams over his hands. Bucky laughs at the feeling, and in a rosy haze of winter chilled love Steve leans over and licks it up, laughing in his throat when he hears Bucky gasp.

* * *

“Come on! Hurry up!” Steve is pacing by the front door waiting for Bucky to peel himself off the couch.

“Steve, this is a bad fucking idea. I can’t believe you.” Bucky plants his feet on the ground and starts walking away from Steve.

“It is not! No one is even gonna see us do it.” Steve rolls his eyes and can practically _feel_ Bucky doing the same.

"You're basing that off of what, exactly? A story I told you when I was like six? We can't attempt a fruit cart burglary."

"We ain't robbing it. We're just giving Mr. Lane's head a spin." Steve puts his hands on his waist in irritation as Bucky comes back towards him looking like he's about to give in.

"Am I dancing with the devil?" He asks turning his head up at the ceiling and throwing out his arms.

"Nah," Steve laughs, not easing Bucky's concern in the slightest. He slides up into Bucky's space and wraps his arms around his waist, swaying against him. "You're dancing with good 'ole Steve Rogers."

"Same fucking thing, pal," Bucky grumbles as he follows Steve out the door. "Same thing."

* * *

“Happy Birthday.” Steve whispers as he bites at the shell of Bucky’s ear.

“I love you.” Bucky responds immediately. He is panting already, one arm holding Steve's body tight against him and the other carding fingers through impossibly soft strands of gold.

“I love you too.” Steve replies letting a laugh bubble in his throat at the ardent desperation in Bucky's voice. He places a soft kiss on Bucky's lips that leaves Bucky trembling.

* * *

“Feeling better today?” Bucky whispers to a foggy Steve. He kicks off his shoes and pulls off his shirt and pants. He stands next to the bed and leans over to pull the blanket tighter around Steve's sharp chin. _Open your damn eyes, Steve_.

“Does it look like it?” Steve mutters through his fluish haze. Bucky sighs and lifts the blanket to crawl inside. He wraps every limb around Steve and holds him so tight Bucky thinks if Steve wasn't so sick out of his mind he'd be throwing punches to get him off. He hums a slow tune until he can feel Steve drift into sleep. Bucky doesn't fall asleep once.

* * *

“For the last time, Buck, you look great. Can we go? We’re gonna miss Easter mass.” Steve runs anxious fingers through his neatly styled hair mussing it up. He's wearing his best suit, the same one he wore to his ma's funeral. His shoes are old but they still pinch his toes making his mindless pacing a bother.

“Don’t know why we bother going.” Bucky mutters looking in the mirror hoping Steve didn't hear him.

“Our ma’s would want us to, that’s why.” Steve says coming to stand in the doorway. Bucky raises his eyebrows as he combs back his hair for the twentieth time.

“We’re going to hell anyway, pal.” Bucky mutters again clearly showing he's in a mood. The exact one he got in when Steve suggested they go to mass for Easter this time last week. Steve was raised catholic but Bucky was raised do the laundry and clean your room Sunday mornings. His family wasn't _not_ religious, his father just found it a little pointless. He let Winnie do the worrying and the praying for the lot of them. Most of Bucky's ecclesiastic experiences were rooted in sleepovers at the Rogers' residence that resulted in mass the next morning. Occasionally, Winnie would drag him and the girls to a holiday service. Once his parents died and Sarah was long gone the church visits starkly dropped off. It was Becca's turn to do the worrying and praying.

“Says you. I go where I want.” Steve lifts his chin in defiance.

“Tell that to the great _I am_.” Bucky rolls his eyes but finally inches past Steve to get a start for church. Bucky doesn't know where the sudden interest for mass came from but he doesn't bother to badger Steve for the reason. He figures he knows the reason. It's either a pang of residual mourning for Sarah or he just plain misses the strict routine of it all. Either way Bucky is bored already.

* * *

“The sun is out today.” Bucky murmurs more to himself as he peaks through the curtains. Steve hears him anyway and turns to watch him. He sees the gold light tangle with his hair creating caramel looking highlights that almost makes Steve unreasonably dizzy.

“Yeah, ain’t it nice?” He chokes out.

“Wanna go down to the pier?” Bucky offers still watching the scene outside.

“It’s still cold out Buck. There’s still snow on the ground.” Steve gets up and walks over slowly, bumping his shoulder against Bucky's.

“Thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air. You haven’t been outta the house since you got better. We could at least sit on the fire escape. I’ll wrap you up nice and warm.”

“Fine. But if I get sick and die I'm haunting you relentlessly.”

"You ain't gonna die. I won't let it happen." Bucky turns to look at Steve, a sweet smile dancing on his lips. It makes Steve feel young. _So incredibly young_. He knows that's stupid to think, he _is_ young, but the things he's seen and done and had to live through, what both of them have. Sometimes he feels a century old. So in order to combat that deceptive train of thought he threads his fingers with Bucky's and matches his smile.

"Alright then, pal. What are we waiting on?"

* * *

“Maria from Queens keeps tryna court me.” Bucky flicks away a cigarette butt. He's taken to smoking a lot more lately, even in front of Steve. He's careful with the smoke, never blows it near him and never smokes inside the apartment. But still, Steve notices, its becoming a habit. He doesn't exactly mind seeing as how achingly magnificent he looks when he does it, like he's a silver screen beauty gracing the dirty streets of Brooklyn on his night off. Steve swears he's far too pretty for the likes of this shoddy neighborhood and the way his cheeks hollow out when he inhales the smoke...it's fucking cataclysmic.

“Tell her to fuck off.” Steve says kicking a stone out of the way. They walk down to a dance hall where they're meeting up with Becca and her newest fella. They've met him a couple times before and he's a decent man with a good job in a family business. Bucky thinks she's only seeing him for the security. She's getting tired of getting by. But then again, so is the rest of New York.

“I tell you what, Steve, can’t keep these girls offa me.” Bucky cocks his head to the side and licks his lips. Steve's eyes are drawn to it, unconsciously mimicking the tick.

“Shuddup,” Steve grumbles and Bucky throws his head back to laugh. He nudges his shoulder against Steve's and brushes his fingertips over Steve's ass. It's quick but Steve still manages to jump three feet in the air and blush hard. "Jesus, Buck. You can't do that out here."

* * *

“Where’s my blue sweater?” Steve calls out to Bucky where he’s rustling around in the kitchen. 

“What blue sweater?” Comes the muffled response. 

“The only one I own, dammit.” Steve throws a shirt on the floor and storms out into the kitchen confirming what he suspects. He cocks his head at Bucky annoyed at the sight he finds. Bucky turns around, mug in hand and a spoon in the other. 

“This one?” Bucky asks innocently as he takes a sip.

“You fucking-”

“Now now, Steve,” Bucky stirs the contents of his mug. “Just you hold on a minute. I was _cold_ this morning.” Steve glares hard but Bucky just shoots him back a wolfish grin. Steve's fists are already curling.

* * *

“I thought we outgrew this.” Bucky says as he wipes blood from Steve’s brow. His own brows are knitted together in concentration. He's trying to be gentle but the gash won't stop bleeding.

“You knew we never would.” Steve shrugs.

“ _You_ , I might’ve known _you_ never would.” Bucky shakes his head and gives a rough swipe over the cut. Steve winces and notices how Bucky looks very clearly not sorry.

“You were right behind me swinging too. Don’t blame it all on me.” Steve points out voice rising slightly.

“I will blame it on you! It’s your fault. Coulda kept walking...coulda got home and made hot soup and turned on the radio…coulda read about experiments and monsters and girls who needed saving. But no. We had to fucking get in a fight. Again. _Again!_ ”

“You really woulda kept walking?” Steve snaps.

“No,” Bucky sighs and eyes the bloodied rag in his hands. He thinks of the girl cornered by two men in that alley. “No I wouldn’t have.”

“See.”

* * *

1941

“You know I heard about these group art classes down at the community center.” Bucky says as he flips through a science textbook he found in the trash outside a school on the north side. He did that every once and awhile. Went looking for free books wherever he could find 'em. There was a stack next to the bed that was getting dangerously high. Most of the books he hauled home were educational but a handful were cheap romance novels. _Light reading_ Bucky'd told him with a shrug.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I thought maybe I could take you sometime. You might actually learn how to draw.” Bucky bites his lip and turns another page.

“Please.” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“You know, something good for once.” Bucky's lips quirk up into a devilish grin.

“When's the next one?” Steve asks pulling the book from Bucky's hands. Bucky let's him and then he let's him stretch his thin body over Bucky's, lining them up.

“Next week. Whadda you say? They barely cost a thing. We could do it.” Bucky whispers into Steve's mouth. Steve licks at him in retaliation.

“Alright Buck,” Steve nods. “That sounds good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belly of the Deepest Love - Tow'rs
> 
> Hope you liked these sweet and short little moments between Steve and Bucky:) I wanted to show some peaceful times before we get into the war/tfa timeline so hang in there! Only one more chapter until that all comes around!


	14. I Know You Gotta Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now and then you miss it, sounds make you cry  
> Some nights you dance with tears in your eyes

1941

Bucky is busy poring over a self portrait when the door to the art room slams open. It's truly one of his better pieces so Bucky is instantly annoyed at the interruption. He's been starting and scrapping it for weeks now while Steve has been putting out more pieces of art than Bucky's seen his entire life. A short boy with wild red hair is panting in the doorway with cheeks flushed and eyes wide and wet.

“They’ve - They’ve, the Japs,” He can’t get the words out right away and Bucky swallows his frustration. Steve, on the other hand is the opposite of harmlessly annoyed. He’s already up off his wooden stool, abandoning his still life. They’d been seated closest to the door and Steve, in all his righteousness, felt it his duty to approach the boy first. Even the instructor remained seated across the room tiredly watching the disturbance from behind his canvas. 

“What is it?” Steve asks putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder. The boy begins to visibly shake. Bucky sees his lip tremble and straightens up. His frustration is melting away to make room for a sick feeling of dread. It's bad whatever it is. He knows it, Steve knows it and Bucky can see it when he sneaks a glance over his shoulder at Bucky. Bucky shrugs back not knowing how to handle the situation any better than Steve.

“The Japanese...they bombed us. They’ve bombed us.” He has tears threatening to spill over but Bucky doesn’t pay attention to whether or not they eventually do. His attention is focused on Steve who’s looking back at him with the same look of shock and fear. _They’re in the war now, they have to be_.

They are in this war. 

* * *

1942

They walk home from the grocer together, a bag in each of their hands. It was a quiet trip that they would've done separately (they took turns with the shopping otherwise Steve got antsy) but the fight they had prior to was unfamiliar territory for both of them. Parts of it sure felt familiar what with Steve insisting on getting his ass handed to him but the stakes were a little bit higher. It was far more than his ass on the line. Before Steve was supposed to leave alone for the grocer he told Bucky he was going to enlist on his way home so _don't wait up, Buck_. Of course this set off the first of many arguments they'd have the months to come about Steve's penchant for enlisting legally or otherwise. Turns out Steve had already tried it the week before without saying a goddamn word to Bucky about it. That set Bucky off even more, putting him close to frustrated tears. They hardly had a chance to dry away when Steve pulled out the card stamped with a 4F and waved it in Bucky's face. So Bucky came along to shop, mostly to keep Steve from enlisting and additionally because he didn't want the uneasiness between them to keep stewing. If they were together it would sooner blow over and Bucky wouldn't have to go to bed with ten feet of awkward tension between him and Steve. More importantly it was the reality that if by some miracle the U.S. army let sickly Steve Rogers in then he would certainly die. It was not something that sat well with either of them but more so it haunted Bucky. Steve thought martyrdom was a worthy way to go out. He always did. _Stupid fuck_.

They don't say a word to one another the duration of the walk home. Not even a grunt or sigh as they put the food away. Now they're tiptoeing around each other trying not to set anything off again. It feels raw and wrong and terribly uncomfortable. Bucky can feel Steve seething as he folds the paper bags up and saves them in the front closet. Bucky lingers by the kitchen table watching him slam the closet door when it doesn't latch right the first time.

"I can't believe you want to stop me," Steve finally grits out when the silence eats him to the bone. Bucky doesn't respond. Instead he goes to the bedroom and takes his shirt and pants off not bothering to leave room in the bed for Steve. Steve follows and hovers in the doorway watching the lump of Bucky Barnes shift under the blanket. He thinks he registers quick breaths, maybe even a sniffle, but he ignores it as the anger fills him up. "Honestly, Buck. People are fucking dying and what? You want to sit and let it happen? Watch from the cheap seats? I know that ain't you and I know you ain't naive enough to think this is only about me. If you wanna be afraid then fine. Be afraid. Everyone in this war is afraid. That doesn't mean we shouldn't do our part," Steve pauses to take a deep breath. He is, now, registering clear as day the sniffles coming from the lump. "Bucky, this is the right thing to do. It's what we have to do."

"I'm sick and tired of your goddamn speeches, Rogers. If I have to sit through another one I swear to Christ." The threat comes out watery so Steve ignores it. 

"I'm not going to stop. I'm doing what I gotta."

“Please, Steve,” Bucky shifts to let his head poke out from under the blanket. “You’re going to die.”

“Bucky, this isn’t a time that we can just _keep walking_. We have to stop and fight. Would you keep walking? Honestly?” Steve's voice takes on an authoritative quality; something he's been using a lot more lately when thoughts on the war comes up. He's used it before on bullies and kids but never on Bucky.

"No," He finally gets out. Steve's notorious for not backing down from a fight, but Bucky is always right there with him. That won't stop now. "I wouldn't."

"Yeah I might die," Steve's words are softer now as he comes to rest on the edge of the bed. He runs a hand over Bucky's hip in a comforting manner. Bucky notes that it's a Sarah Rogers gesture. "But at least it'll be for something good, something that _means something_ rather than wasting away sick in bed." Bucky sniffles again and scoots over towards the wall, offering a space for Steve to lay next to him.

"It's gonna hurt." Bucky whispers as he pulls Steve's back against him. When he settles in to Bucky's embrace Bucky kisses his hair. Bucky can't be sure whether he means it'll hurt Steve to die or if it'll hurt Bucky to let him. No matter the reason he feels sick to his stomach.

"It'll hurt either way," Steve whispers back. "Let me do this, Buck. Let me try." Bucky doesn't respond because he's not sure he can give an answer Steve wants to hear. In fact, he's sure he won't give him answer he'll want to hear. So instead they lay together in tense silence that offers little to no sleep. When the sun comes up they haven't moved and neither of them want to in fear the other caught sleep somehow.

* * *

1943

Bucky reads it once. Only one time. Steve isn't home so he doesn't have to tell anyone what he's holding or where he's going when he sprints out of the apartment. He makes his way swiftly to Becca’s before he realizes what he’s doing. But once he gets there he knows exactly why he came. Ruth lets him in and sees his red eyes. She doesn’t ask what he's doing there, just steps aside. He must look jittery as all hell if she’s just letting him by without a word. 

He heads straight for Becca’s bedroom and let’s himself in. She isn’t around, working again through the evening. Bucky opens the closet and rummages around for the buried tin box. It used to hold cookies or needles or something, Sarah had told him. It was the only thing he took from her after she passed without telling Steve. He opens it to find a stack of letters and pictures and one gold hairpin. He flips through the letters quickly to find the one he wants. It's addressed from Steve’s grandmother and the words inside detail the passing of his father. His eyes drag on Steve's grandmother's last name, Sarah's maiden name, O'Ceallaigh. Then he brushes a thumb over the name she took when she married Steve's father, _Steve's_ last name, _O'Riain_.

He stuffs the letter in his pocket, next to the other, and hides away the box before dashing out of the house. He chooses the alley right outside Becca’s building to kneel down and set the two pieces of paper together. He takes out his lighter, inspects the metal before flicking the silver top back to reveal the flame. He lowers it to the offending sheets where it licks and begins swallowing them whole. For good measure Bucky takes out a cigarette and places it between his cracked lips, with empty eyes he bows his head so that the end of the cigarette will catch on the small alley fire he created. He leans away still crouched, puffing as he watches the papers disappear. When he’s satisfied with that he goes home, kicking rocks and glass bottles out of his way.

When Steve asks about his day he omits the part where he burned one of his mother's letters and his draft notice. His excuse, his cover, for being late comes out in a shaky breath but Steve is too busy fiddling with the radio to notice.

* * *

Steve tries to enlist again and Bucky fights him on it just like every other time. Bucky was set to tell Steve about his enlistment tonight. He decided evading the draft wasn’t worth it, and also decided telling Steve the truth wasn’t worth it. Instead he was going to tell him he enlisted out of the bravery of his own heart.

But as he yells at Steve for the tenth time since he walked in the door he can feel the tremors riding through him. He’s nervously brushing his hair back over and over and pacing in front of the kitchen sink.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve throws his arms out again. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bucky can’t respond. He’s too caught up in fumbling with the package of cigarettes he’s taking out of his pocket. He’s still pacing as he puts one between his lips and lights it. The box is now empty so he tosses it in the sink, a problem for when his nerves aren't controlling his every movement. He takes a shaky drag and runs another hand through his hair. Steve’s been quiet since Bucky brought the cigarettes out. He's never smoked in the apartment before. Steve’s silent now, waiting on Bucky to do something or maybe he’s just watching to figure out if he’s going crazy or not. Halfway through Bucky feels calm enough to lean back against the counter and cross his ankles in front of him. He hugs his arms to his body and takes the first steady inhale of the night.

“Steve.” Bucky whispers with his eyes closed.

“I’m not stopping. And for the life of me I don’t get why you haven’t even started.” Steve whispers back. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. 

“I enlisted already. I’m leaving in seventeen days.” Bucky still won’t open his eyes and he feels the built up ash of his last cigarette tumble over his fingers. Steve doesn’t make a sound but in an instant Bucky feels him getting closer, lifting the cigarette butt from his fingers and tossing it to join the empty box in the sink. Steve runs a hand up Bucky’s torso until it's resting on his cheek. Finally Bucky’s eyes meet Steve’s.

"I..." Steve starts but snaps his mouth shut when the words won't come. How can he respond to that? Isn't this what he wanted? For them to do the right thing? And now Bucky's doing it and part of him is proud and sure but the other part is human. This was ideal, them going to war, but the fact that it's now looking them in the face? And Steve is still pulling 4F's on the regular? "I love you." Bucky's eyes turn glassy and it takes seconds for them to spill over. Steve holds him in the kitchen until Bucky's dried up. Then they fall asleep forehead to forehead in their twin bed whispering memories of nights where war didn't exist. 

* * *

The night before he leaves for training camp in Wisconsin Bucky takes a silently raging Steve to his chest. The radio on low, hardly a vibration in the air but it's enough for them when the sun is hidden away and Steve’s body is this warm. Bucky is grabbing tightly at the fabric of Steve’s button up, surely wrinkling it. He doesn’t care if Steve can feel how desperately he’s holding on to him. He just needs to be close. He may not be shipping out with orders but he’s leaving nonetheless and that makes it undeniably real. It makes being away from Steve real, something he's literally never done in his life. It makes the war real, not just lines in a newspaper or hushed voices on the street. Bucky tries to hum along to the tune they both know so well that’s floating from the radio but his throat chokes up and he only manages a few choppy notes. Steve let's out a choked sigh of his own in response. 

“Kiss me.” He whispers into Bucky’s collar. Bucky obediently pulls back and looks into Steve’s eyes. He makes out the green before he finally glances down to his lips. His bottom lip looking bitten but full. Inviting. Bucky could start shaking right now and not know if it was fear or love or everything in the world at once. He knows, though, that this short moment will be sticking with him the next few weeks. He’ll be remembering the last time he held Steve, the last time they kissed, the last time they made love with the window open but the white curtains drawn. He’ll be back in New York before they give him orders. He’ll see him one more time. But then he will leave and he will die and Steve will be alone in Brooklyn and he’ll probably get sick and eventually die too. Bucky would be a lot more distraught at the possibility but he only feels numb as his lips align with Steve’s. Even if they die they’ll find their way back. In another world, in another life. Bucky doesn’t really believe in heaven all that much but he knows Steve does and he thinks that's just good enough for both of them.

Bucky takes Steve’s hand and leads him to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the old mattress and watches as Steve does the same. They get back to kissing and it's slow and beautiful and impossibly bittersweet but there’s heat to back it. Bucky pushes Steve down against the pillows and threads his fingers through his golden hair. Steve whimpers into his mouth.

When he eventually comes undone underneath Bucky’s hands and around his cock Bucky can feel the slickness of Steve’s cheeks. He goes to sooth his tears with a brush of his own cheeks against him but he realizes his state is no better. They lay entangled like that, out of breath from their lovemaking and gasping against each other because of their transience.

In the morning Bucky pushes back ruffled gold locks and places the softest of kisses, perfectly feather light, on Steve’s forehead. It’s not hot, he’s not sick, but that’s how Bucky feels he’s leaving him. And maybe that's why he doesn’t wake him up, maybe that's why he doesn’t say a goddamn word as he slips his hand into the pillowcase and pulls out the nearly twenty year old drawing and stuffs it safely over his heart.

He can’t face seeing his eyes. Even as he backs out of the door he cannot bring his lips to form the words _I love you_. Not even in a fucking whisper that the world around him could reverberate back to Steve's one good ear.

He feels it within the deepest parts of him. He has always loved Steve.

He knows it on the surface of his skin and on the tips of his being. He will always love Steve. 

And Steve fucking deserves to hear it but, fuck, he can’t do anything but bite his already raw lip to keep from breaking down. It's like Steve's been telling him all along, this is the right thing to do. It means something and he can't be weak.

So Bucky walks out of their apartment and steps out into his city to get to where they told him to go. He breathes it in one last time. Even though he'll come back before shipping out for real, he has a feeling he won’t be the same.

* * *

Steve walks solemnly to Becca’s, hands deep in his pockets. A short trip that turns into two hours of stops and starts. But Becca is expecting him and he can’t keep her waiting any longer. Ruth is at a sleepover. She’s been staying away since she found out her big brother was going to war. Steve's half sure he might never see her again as long as Bucky's away. Georgie has been the only one who acts relatively normal. Chatty and touchy and altogether acting like nothing is going to change. He wondered if to her it wasn’t or if she was just that good at playing pretend. She always was when she was little. Steve climbs the steps to Becca's and knocks twice.

“Come in, Steve.” Becca’s voice sounds on the other side of the door. 

“Hi.” Steve says coming through the door. He sees her laying down on the couch, one arm slung back to play with her own hair and the other resting on her stomach. She looks the tired sort of peaceful she usually does and it strikes him that perhaps he is the only one as heartbroken as he is about Bucky's departure. He looks over to see Georgie seated at the table doing what looks like homework. Becca sits up and pats the seat next to her. 

“Sit,” She inclines her head to the empty space. Steve comes over and sits down. When he looks over at her he notices the dark circles under her eyes. They're always there, always have been since 1938, but now they seem hulkishly bruising in the afternoon light. “He left?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. He thinks a minute. “He didn’t stop by this morning?” Becca shakes her head.

“Saw him yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You doing okay?”

“Sure thing.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“Yes I do.”

“Steve, you can be upset. He’s gone. And I know you. You’re like the Barnes girls. Keeping everything in, sealed up tight.”

“He’ll be back.”

“He’ll leave again.”

“Why are you saying all this? You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making it real. I don’t want you to ignore it.”

“I’m not, Jesus H. Christ. I’m not ignoring it. It is _real_. If anyone’s ignoring it it’s him. He left this morning without even waking me up.”

“Oh, Steve.”

“Woke up and I was alone. Thought maybe he was in the kitchen making coffee. I spent ten minutes checking the apartment over and over thinking I just missed him. 'He’s here. He’s fucking here. He wouldn’t leave me like this. He wouldn’t -'” The rest of the sentence is choked off in a sob. And to Steve’s disbelief he’s starting to cry. It's soft and silent like it usually is when he gives in but all Steve can think about is how last night when he had tears wetting his cheeks Bucky wiped them away with his own. Now he’s gone and Becca is falling short to fill the hole. She pulls him forward and tucks his head under her chin. At eighteen she's surpassed him in height leaving Ruth to be the next competitor for _who's taller? The entire Barnes family or Steve?_. Next to the heights that Bucky had carved in of his and Steve's at their apartment, he brought his sisters over one day, on a good day, and made gashes in the wood for all three of them. And when they grew he did it again, laughing when Becca passed Steve's mark and goading Steve when Ruth's started getting closer. 

“Oh, Steve,” Becca repeats. “I don’t know why he did that. He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t matter.”

“Does.”

“Don’t want it to.”

“He’s coming back. He’s coming back to you.” She murmurs into his hair. Somewhere in between her being a bright and fearless child and now she turned into the closest thing to a mother figure he or Bucky had seen since he was eighteen. Now she wears an engagement ring and ushers her sisters around as if they sprung from her own womb. When she marries the Proctor boy next spring she's taking them with her to his much bigger apartment uptown. He told her they can stay until they get men of their own. Bucky was annoyed but grateful. He always told Steve he felt like shit for leaving the girls with Becca but he couldn't afford to take them on himself or even bring them into his small world he built for him and Steve.

"Yeah." Steve agrees through a hiccup. "He'll come back to us." He feels her shudder against him. For a moment he thinks this must finally be the moment he sees the infallible Becca Barnes weep. But she remains stoic and strong. And Georgie stays still and quiet from her seat. She turns to watch but she too remains tearless. Steve wishes he could do the same. He wishes this wasn't happening. He wishes he could understand why it had to in the first place. He wishes Bucky hadn't been so selfish this morning.

But above all, from the depth of his aching heart, he wishes Bucky had not left him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self Control - Frank Ocean
> 
> pls dont crucify me on those irish names im not irish but i researched common surnames of the late nineteenth century. Sarah's maiden name means something like "strife" and Steve's means "little king"


	15. We're Losing Our Sense of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he tries to reassure himself  
> That it's all still there  
> But most times he just cries to himself  
> Sunk deep into his chair

1943

It’s been weeks on the sales bond circuit. Steve can feel the suffocation and guilt piling up as he reads headlines and listens to the radio. He drafts another letter to Bucky but scraps it when the words don’t come out right. He’s trapped between letting out his seething righteousness and ranting about how he could be and do so much more (but who knows what Bucky will even get after the army censors it) and giving Bucky something heartfelt to hold on to. Something that tells him that Steve is okay, not getting into fights, not sick, _just fine and waiting to see that ugly mug of yours again, Buck_. Steve doesn’t know what Bucky could be seeing or doing or, fucking god forbid, if he’s even alive. 

Steve throws another piece of crumpled paper in the bin next to him and buries his head in his hands. Then he remembers that he shouldn’t be wasting all this paper when everything is rationed these days so he takes them all out and smooths them over. On the back of one botched letter he hovers his pen to begin again.

“Hey, Rogers?” What sounds like Mary or Megan’s voice calls from the doorway.

“Yeah?” Steve replies not bothering to look over his shoulder. He knows it's one of the girls probably come to ask for another favor. 

“Can you come help Daise with her eyebrows? I just don’t have the goddamn time to do hers _and_ Gretchen's _and_ Alyssa’s.” Meg leans against the doorway of the small dressing room he gets, solely because there are only two men in the company, him and fake Hitler. Which, you wouldn’t know by the crowd’s rating, but is a very generous and loving man. He lost his wife a few years back to TB just like Steve’s ma. They talked about it over drinks once after a show in Nashville. Now Walter is doing small stage gigs to climb his way up into big movie parts. His wife was the only one in his life that ever told him he could amount to something, so he does it for her. 

Steve knows a little of what that's like.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” Steve throws a smile over his shoulder and watches her lick her lips before leaving the room. Steve rolls his eyes and huffs a bitter laugh. It's not that all the girls are like that, maybe the first few days they were. But his helplessness and uncharming demeanor had effectively established him as the little brother type. He can’t say he minds completely but he thought he’d get a little more traction. Meg is probably the only girl left who bothers to try anything with him and, damn him, he lets her. It feels good to be wanted when Bucky is a thousand worlds away. Sometimes he lets her suck him off while he thinks of a short haired brunet with a jawline to cut steel. She knows he’s not looking for more, neither is she. It's just that travelling loneliness that makes them so desperate for release. Gretchen let slip once that Meg has a fella overseas. They’re both doing the same thing but don’t wanna see it taken too far.

Steve piles his crinkly papers and stuffs them in his suitcase before heading to the girls' room across the hall. It's substantially bigger than his holding nearly fifty girls for this show. They’ll be in Los Angeles for the whole weekend.

“Okay, Daisy, where are you?” Steve says maneuvering around a few chattering girls. He finds Daisy fiddling with her hair looking like she’s on the verge of tears. Her top is undone leaving her breasts out. It doesn’t even phase him anymore all the tits he sees on a daily basis. “Need help?”

“Oh, Steve,” Daisy says tilting her head as she looks at him through the mirror, letting a few fat tears drip onto the vanity in front of her. She does another sweep through her hair and tugs at the frizzy ends. “Nothing’s going right tonight, honey.”

“Hey, come on. You look beautiful. Let me help you out,” Steve drags over a stool and takes her pale face gently in his hands, tilting it toward him. He assesses her makeup before grabbing for the materials he needs. “What's got you so strung out tonight? It's usually Lisa with the tears, not you.”

“Mama sent a telegram. My brother is in the hospital.” Daisy sniffles. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Steve slows his hand where it was drawing in her left eyebrow. “Is he, uh, okay?”

“His name is Daniel and he’s only sixteen,” Daisy closes her eyes tight but tries not to scrunch up her face too tight so as not to disturb Steve’s work. “Can I tell you something?” She whispers so quiet Steve leans in closer only to catch the last part. He nods hoping he understood the request.

“He’s a, well he likes,” She bites her lip and opens her brown eyes back up. “He’s in the hospital because these boys caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been doing and started beating on him. Right after school. Can you believe that? I called my mama and she said he staggered in late two nights ago all bruised and bloodied. They broke his arm, nose and a rib, she said.”

“Jesus, why’d they hurt him? Is he gonna be alright?” Steve feels a fluttering anger rise up in his belly. 

“The boys…” Daisy shifts a little on her stool flicking her eyes from her hands to Steve’s look of concern. “They caught him kissing another boy. The thing is Steve, it's his boy, you know? I’m the only one in the world who knew about him. Now I guess not. Mama said she doesn’t know what to do. Said she might send him to a camp. You know what they do at those camps?” Steve can only lower his hand and shake his head with a dozen emotions flowing through him. “I heard some of them electrocute you,” Daisy lets a few more tears loose not bothered with the state of her eyebrows. “That's if he even gets better. They hit his head in so bad he hasn’t even woken up since he passed out on the kitchen floor.”

“Listen to me Daisy-” Steve starts, grabbing her by her shoulders gently.

“Five minutes!” A man yells from the other side of the closed door. A dozen girls slip out the door ready to go while then rest do last minute scrambles for finishing touches. A squeal sounds off from one corner of the room when a stool gets loudly knocked over. 

“Daisy,” he starts again. “Skip the show okay? You don’t have to go out like this. And it's gonna be alright. I, fuck, I wish I could say more. I want to but I gotta go,” Steve stands from his spot reaching for a rag so she can clean her face. “Come find me later, at my room, okay? I don’t want you to be alone like this. Or, uh, I mean if you want...if that's okay. I don’t know if you want to-”

“It's fine, Steve, go on now,” She shoos him away with a watery smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, honey.” 

Steve gets through the show with clenched fists and what he thinks is his fakest smile. He doesn't spot Daisy in the lineup and is grateful for it. He hears his own voice wobble when he says _best guy’s gun_ thinking only about two scared little boys from Brooklyn curled up under the sheets not daring to get too close to the other when Sarah slept in the other room. Then before the curtain even closes all the way he's ripping the mask off and rushing back to his room. All he can think of is Daisy’s heartbroken face and her poor brother and Bucky. _Fuck, that could have been them._ It could have been him. It could have been Bucky that came home to his mom half dead for laying one on Steve. How is that fair?

Steve undresses and tucks his things away trying to be quick so he can try and find Daisy. She wasn't typically the sweet, delicate girl but the one who picked everybody else up, got them moving when a show needed performing. She was loud and funny and started arguments with everyone she met. She was combative and Steve knew that trait better than anyone. He could practically see Bucky’s leer at him for gravitating towards the fighter of the group. _Of all the dames, Stevie?_ But tonight she wasn’t fighting, far from it and when Steve bursted into the dressing room looking for her his heart sank a little to find no trace of her.

Suitcase bumping against his thigh as he walks Steve leaves for his cheap hotel room. He doesn’t know which room she's staying in and feels it's too intrusive to start knocking and asking around. When he arrives and settles in and reaches over in bed to turn out the light a soft knock comes at the door. He waits a second holding his breath, half thinking he imagined the noise but when it comes again he gets up and opens the door wide. 

“Come in,” Steve says immediately upon seeing Daisy. Her face is plain and shining with some nighttime oil he knows the girls like to share. They had him try it once but the smell and tightness wasn’t worth it for him. Her eyes are rimmed red and her hair is pulled back in a low and loose braid, different than the curlers he’s used to seeing. Her hair seems to be a lot longer when it isn’t done up in tight rolls.

"I sweet talked the desk for your room number. Hope that's alright." She says shuffling by him and sitting down on the edge of the small bed. It might as well be a twin for the lack of room it offers Steve’s new form but he takes a seat next to her regardless. Their knees brush and he grabs her hand. She leans into him.

“I’m so sorry about your brother.” Steve murmurs into her hair. She begins sniffling and wetting his collarbone. He realizes now that he neglected to put on a shirt before letting her in and he blushes a bit. It's too late and too awkward to put one on now so he just holds her closer.

“I just don’t understand. He’s so kind. Sweet,” She sobs. “Innocent. He’s my brother!” Steve lets her cry her heart out for as long as her body will let her then she finally pulls back, red and puffy and with snot on her top lip. Steve wipes it off and looks at her steadily. He wrestles with himself over what to say next. He could continue with the soft reassurances and the comforting words but the lingering tears in her eyes pull another side out of him. He won’t pretend to really know or understand these girls but Daisy is here with him instead of her friends sharing a secret that no one but her family knows. A secret that got a boy beaten within an inch of his life. What made him deserving of this secret?

“Daisy,” Steve begins. “Since you told me something I want to…” He trails off before clearing his throat. “When I was little my best friend would kiss me. We kissed each other, all the time. And then my ma found out and told us how dangerous it was. But I was so young, I didn’t get it. We stopped but I never really understood why until I was older. One winter a boy we knew was stabbed to death just a couple blocks away. It was because of the same thing. Someone saw him necking with another boy. Dead the next morning with the snow gathering on his blue face,” Steve pauses, remembering how he looked. George Barnes had heard about it and took Steve and Bucky along, no matter how Winnie protested. _George they're little boys! Shut up, Winnie, they need to see. Those two need to see what happens_. “It happened again when we were older. Another boy. But he was shot and thrown into the river. Bucky, my best friend, the one who kissed me when we were little, and who I was living with since my ma died, he came back that night from work and kissed me over and over with tears running down his face. I remember how bad his body was shaking. We were both so scared. Instead of keeping us from even thinking about loving the other it made us hold on tighter. Love really can be innocent, but it's goddamn deadly too. Now he’s overseas and I can’t even tell him how much I really love and miss him in a letter. Your brother deserved better. He does deserve better. He deserves to love and be loved just like everybody else.”

Daisy watches Steve with wide eyes and parted lips. She lifts a trembling hand to wipe the remaining wetness from her cheeks.

“I didn’t know you had a sweetheart,” She says with a shaky lip. “Will you tell me more about him?” 

So Steve does, he keeps talking about Bucky, saying the best and most beautiful things but not forgetting to mention what a jerk he is too. He talks about how the way his hair falls and what his hands feel like and the timbre of his voice. He keeps talking even when he knows Daisy is asleep in the bed wrapped up in the blanket he pulled over her. Eventually Steve curls up on the floor going quiet and still and knowing exactly what he’s going to write in his next letter to Bucky. 

* * *

Steve walks slowly over to the table where three women smoke their cigarettes with bright red lips and loosening curls. Piano chords sound from the other side of the room and the voices and laughter of drunken men surround him. A few other USO girls are wading around the bar but they don’t give him a glance as they dance in the arms of swaying soldiers.

“Well if it isn’t our boy Steven.” Meg slurs. Steve raises an eyebrow at her obvious inebriation then lets out a soft laugh. She looks warm with a natural color in her cheeks rather than that harsh rouge. Her tight red curls are loose and untidy but she hardly notices. Daisy sits next to her looking tense and sweet, completely unlike any version of her he’s seen and to the left of her is Gretchen who has her brown locks swept back and cut shorter since the last time he saw her just days ago. They’re in London at a bar where the soon-to-be Howling Commandos drink themselves into warmth and a state that makes them forget for a second that they are newly released prisoners of war. After Peggy Carter came in to make eyes at Steve, and him make eyes back, he and Bucky shared an hour alone in the back of the bar trying to catch up and size each other up. After the scrutiny of Steve’s gaze and worry weighed too heavily on Bucky they decided to move to the sight of his future team. When Steve went to pull a seat between Bucky and Dum Dum he caught sight of his girls a few tables away. He felt it the courteous thing to do to go say hi. He takes a seat in the empty chair between Meg and Gretchen.

“Heard about your heroics, darling,” Gretchen drawls in her faint southern accent. “Quite the man you turned out to be.”

“What, I thought every good showgirl was supposed to pull a stunt like that, for the experience?” Steve quips back. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him full of light and disbelief as he sits here.

“He’s right,” Daisy’s voice comes out a little shaky. “Can’t get a decent role on Broadway these days without some shit like this up your sleeve.” The girls laugh a little harder than they need to and a little longer than they should while Daisy just peers at Steve with her steady glossed over eyes. Steve has seen a lot of pain these past few days and he recognizes it surging underneath her surface. Before the laughter can properly die down and a new topic can be brought up a man comes up to coerce the girls away for a dance with him and his pals. Meg and Gretchen are quick to jump up but Daisy stays back not looking away from Steve. When they go Daisy leans forward and reaches for Steve’s hands across the table. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks searching her face for a sign of what to come. She offers a weak smile and shake of her head.

“Are you?” She whispers back. And if that isn’t the question of the evening. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly. “I thought I lost someone I loved...but I found him. And I found a hundred more men. I killed people for the first time but I don't feel guilty. I don't feel _anything_. I smelled blood and gunpowder and had to deal with the fact that I'm not gonna be the same from here out. And I knew I wouldn't but... I don't know, shit Daise, I don’t mean to be-”

“Oh, don’t you fucking dare,” She grins. He matches it in earnest. “Your boy, he one of 'em?” Steve nods feeling his smile grow a little wider, yet a little sadder. 

“Yeah, uh, he’s back there,” Steve waves over his shoulder. “The dark haired one.”

“The one who hasn’t stopped looking at you since you sat down?” She laughs.

“Probably.” Steve chuckles. 

“Why don’t you two walk me back. I’d like to meet him.” Daisy boldly suggests. Her eyes still have a heavy look about them but her lips curve into an achingly beautiful and challenging smile. 

“I’ll have to see if it's alright with Buck,” Steve says squeezing her hands. He stands with her following, and walks over to the guys. “Come with?” Steve simply says laying a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s face is wrought with confusion while the boys hoot and holler with innuendo. But nonetheless Bucky stands and shoots a devilish smirk towards them and then they depart for Daisy’s.

Outside the bar Daisy turns to Bucky and throws her arms around his neck and pulls him tight against her. The hug lasts oddly long for two people who’ve never met and Steve can see Bucky’s bewildered expression over Daisy’s shoulder. He holds her just as tight regardless. When she pulls back she kisses him on the cheek and smiles. 

“I’m Daisy.” She says still holding him close. Steve stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

“Um,” Bucky clears his throat. “I’m Bucky.”

"I know. He’s told me all about you. I feel like I grew up with you in Brooklyn too,” She giggles. She finally releases him but grabs his hand in hers then turns and with her free hand reaches for Steve’s. They walk back like that hand in hand. No one says a word until Daisy takes a deep breath to get out what she needs to say. “Before we came over here my little brother, which Steve already knows about, was hurt terribly. And the day before we left for Europe I called my mother to see how he was doing. Guess how he was?” Steve looks down at her and sees the tears building in her eyes that she doesn't let spill over. Bucky watches her with a mix of wonder and worry. 

“He killed himself right in the hospital.” 

“Jesus, Daisy,” Steve stops them and moves to stand in front of her. “I’m so sorry.”

“He finally woke up and before he could even say a word my mother was all over him saying what a fool he was and that she had found a place for him. A place that would fix him. Get the sickness out,” She pauses to screw her eyes shut and bite her lip. Her body goes rigid as she tries to keep herself together. “So when she left the room to get a nurse he went through her purse and found my father’s old-” A choked sob cuts her off and she bows her head down to shy away from their eyes.

“Daisy,” Bucky murmurs letting go of her hand to pull him into his arms. “I’m sorry you weren’t there. I’m sorry you couldn’t say goodbye. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” She pulls away fast and looks between them. “I’m not telling you this to get ‘sorrys’ out of you. Not that I don’t appreciate it. I just wanted to tell you because...well maybe I don’t really know why. But Steve was the only one who knew he was even hurt. Only one who knew I had a brother. So I thought I could tell you," She looks up at Steve with big eyes before locking her gaze on Bucky's. He looks like the way Steve feels - out of his depth but apologetic. "And you’re Steve’s sweetheart. And I wanted to meet you so bad. See who's had him so hung up all this time. I don't know, I suppose I thought you would both understand,” She rambles on. Bucky flicks his wide eyes up to Steve who guiltily shifts on his feet. Bucky opens his mouth to say something but Daisy cuts him off.

"Don't worry, honey." She gives Bucky a dry smile before falling silent. They stand on the wet from an earlier rain sidewalk, taking in the glow of the night and Daisy's tragedy. Steve doesn't know what to do or say so he remains quiet. He doesn't think Bucky does either as he watches him stand motionless simply eyeing Daisy. Finally he shifts and puts an arm around Daisy pulling her gently into him.

"How 'bout we get you back? You can get some sleep." He whispers to her. Steve feels a warmth run through him at the display of kindness. He's aware, in this moment, of how grateful he is to know Bucky, to be able to love him, and to see him alive. Daisy nods and they make their way back. Bucky dives into an embarrassing tale of a younger and somehow stupider Steve getting a leg caught between two ladder rungs five feet off the ground. Daisy is throwing her head back laughing by the time they get her to where the USO girls are staying. At her door she hugs and kisses them goodnight before turning to go inside. Before she closes the door she turns to them and speaks.

"Did you know I'm only nineteen years old?" She shakes her head. "I'm so young and I'm already so goddamn tired. Everybody is so young in this war. I met a boy today who just turned eighteen four months ago. He lost his leg so they're sending him home soon," Steve gulps. He hadn't realized she was so young. He thought she was around his age. And here she is, worlds away from her family when her brother is being buried. "I don't want this anymore. I don't wanna dance and be pretty when boys are losing their legs. I mean look at you, Steven. You were in tights and now you're saving lives. That's what I want. I couldn't save him, my brother. And, fuck, I mean I know I can't save people here but I can help. I can quit and become a nurse. That's what I was gonna do but all the parishes in my county were sending girls into the USO. And Mama was saying that when God wants you one place you better get to going there."

"Daisy," Steve starts. If anyone knows what she's feeling, her guilt and yearning for responsibility, it's him. He's wanted this, what he has now, for a long, long time. "You'd make a damn good nurse." She smiles brightly at him and kisses his cheek again. Bucky, ever the protector, tells her to get some sleep and think it over. She rolls her eyes and laughs at him reminding them both of three brown haired girls back in Brooklyn. Bucky laughs back realizing how overprotective he sounds.

"You really are exactly how I imagined you, Bucky." She tilts her head as if she's studying him.

"Should I be worried?" He mimics the cock the of her head. She laughs again, scrunching her nose a little in the process.

"Not a chance, honey. I hope I see you boys again soon."

"You will." Steve assures. She blows kisses and disappears behind the cream door.

They don't see her the rest of the time they're in London. The USO girls leave for the States before the Commandos ship out to wherever the SSR wants 'em. A few of the girls hunt down Steve to say goodbye since they're likely to never meet again. Meg kisses him right on the lips shocking Bucky, who is standing next to him, into a loud laugh. He's mostly cackling at the surprised expression on Steve's face. _She used tongue_. Meg notices Bucky's laughter and pulls away from Steve to slap him. That sends Bucky into an apologetic whirl as he's following her on her heels trying to clear it up. _I was laughin' at him, see? He's an idiot is all. I'd never be laughing at such a beautiful -_ They round a corner and Steve loses sight of them. An hour later when he goes looking for them he finds Bucky pinned up against a desk as Meg sucks a love bite on his neck. Bucky looks a little dazed as he catches Steve's eye. Then he shrugs as if to say _what can you do?_ When they get back to their quarters Steve runs a finger over the bruise and rolls his eyes dramatically.

"What? She told me she used to suck you off. Thought maybe I'd taste you on her lips."

"Why'd she tell you that?"

"It came up."

"I bet."

"Yeah. So did you, apparently."

"Buck."

"Fuck fidelity right?"

"Bucky you can't remind me every three hours we ain't a couple 'cause its too dangerous and then yell at me for infidelity."

"Nobody was sucking _my_ dick since the last time I saw you. You know, it's 'spose to be my job is all I'm saying, Steve."

"Fine, you gonna suck it now then?"

"Fuck you." Bucky says but he's already undoing Steve's buckle.

It occurs to Steve later that Daisy was nowhere in sight as the girls got ready to leave. He should've asked someone if she quit or not. Months later when the Commandos are trudging through France Steve thinks he catches sight of a familiar frizzy haired girl rushing a bloodied soldier on a stretcher into a makeshift hospital. And later that day when he's brought in for a knife wound to the side he catches her eye across the way and knows it's her. He smiles weakly, tired and uneasy as his skin knits itself back together. She stands up from her hunched position, balling up a bloody cloth and brushing back hair with the back of her hand. For a second she smiles back then hurried shouts fill the medical tent. A blast sounds off outside, dangerously close Steve notes as the ground beneath him shakes and dozens of people are knocked off their feet and cots. Moans of pain fill the air. Steve is up in seconds running through the maze of bodies to get outside. He sees the Commandos running towards him already saying some tanks are on their way. He sees the first one come into view as soon as the last word comes out of Dugan's mouth.

They do their job opening fire at the men who guide the tanks on feet and round up any able body from around the medical tent to push the line back. But once the men on the ground are eliminated it's tanks against men and even Steve knows he's outmatched. That doesn't stop him from charging the closest one and ripping open the door and throwing a grenade inside while Bucky shouts behind him. He jumps off as it blows and he tries to run to the next one. It aims towards him and sends a blast that hits right behind him. He looks back to make sure Bucky wasn't hit and keeps pushing forward when he sees him raging at his side. Bucky saves the lecture for when the rest of the tanks are blown apart or the men inside are killed. Steve pants as they make their way back to the med tent to round the troops up.

Except there's no med tent left to return to. Bucky's angry words of worry are cut off as he sees it. It's blown apart with faint crackles of smoke and fire and the whine of dying men who weren't lucky enough to die in the blast. Steve runs into the scene looking for survivors and barking orders at the men around him to help. He keeps looking through the mess of body parts and metal knowing exactly who he's looking for. He almost throws up three times in his search before he sees her puff of frizzy hair twenty feet away. He makes his way swiftly over to the remains of her ripped apart body almost tripping on a severed arm in his path. He sinks to the ground feeling himself gag again at the sight of her. A flash of her smile goes through his mind and he turns away to throw up.

"Steve, what're..." Steve hadn't noticed that Bucky has been at his side this whole time, following him through the debris and bodies. Bucky is watching him warily, seeing the expression painting Steve's features. It's incredulous grief and rage and Bucky kneels down next to him realizing who it is Steve is gathering in his arms. _With her legs blown off she's so light_ , Steve thinks. And it breaks him immediately that it's even something that goes through his head. "Jesus." Bucky swears. He takes a dirty hand and brushes hair out of her face. " _Jesus_." A soldier hurries over to them and says something but Steve can't hear him. He's too busy thinking of the way she danced and the sound of her voice and the way she called every man she met _honey_. He knows this is war and this is what happens. He's seen women die in front of him before, he's seen children die in front of him before. But this is Daisy. This is his _friend_. The nineteen year old girl who quit her singing and dancing routine to wade into the war.

Now he holds her dead body to keep her out of the dirt.

"...eve. Steve! Steve, listen," Bucky is shaking his shoulders. "We gotta go. We hafta leave. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Steve. We have to leave. They're sending reinforcements, the Krauts. We can't stay. There ain't enough of us. I'm so sorry." Steve slowly looks up at Bucky who's tear tracks cut lines through the dirt and blood on his cheeks. He looks feral and if Steve could find the strength to focus he would notice the way Bucky is shaking. Steve doesn't move yet because he's still in a bit of a stupor but in the back of his brain he knows he has to get moving. But he can't, can't leave Daisy. He can't just leave her here.

"Buck." Steve feels himself mumble. He looks back down at Daisy and feels queasy again. She's so small. She's so young.

"I know, Steve. We have to leave her. We have to leave Daisy. We're gonna die pal. We gotta go. _I'm so sorry._ " Bucky is attempting to haul him up but he's digging his knees into the dirt, still gripping Daisy.

"She's a kid." Steve says. He still can't put her down and now Dugan is racing over to help get Steve going.

"What the fuck's going on? We need to move! Cap!" Dugan is about to lift Steve up himself but Bucky pulls him away.

"He's coming! Just give him a minute. We're fine, go get everyone else and move out. We'll catch up," Bucky is pushing Dugan roughly away. He looks pissed but he starts walking towards the others. Alone again, Bucky crouches down and lifts Steve's face up to look at him. "Stevie, we don't got much time," Steve nods, his head beginning to clear. When it finally does he nods with more certainty. He can feel himself start to switch Steve Rogers off but Bucky leans in closer, one hand harshly gripping the back of his neck, face so close he's breathing on Steve's hardening features. "Don't do that, Steve. Don't close off. We gotta set her down, cover her up. There's some torn canvas over there, from the tent. We'll cover her body. You can pray for her, if you like, okay? Whatever you need to do. But we gotta do it now. Gotta get off the ground now." Steve nods and stands, Daisy still tucked into his chest. He carries her out of the debris over to a clearer area and gently places her body against the earth. He stays kneeling next to her as he arranges her arms comfortably at her sides. Bucky brings over a big enough piece of shredded tent to cover her with. He begins to lay it over her but Steve stops him before he gets to her face. He leans over and places a hand on her forehead, murmuring something under his breath that Bucky can't make out. Then he's removing the hand and kissing her cold skin with a feather like touch. He takes the canvas and places it softly over her head himself, getting one last glimpse.

That night when they make camp far enough away from the advancing German troop, Bucky holds Steve tight against him not bothering with decency when the Commandos are laying all around them. Steve cries silently into Bucky's collar until light peeks over the horizon. He finds that once he begins crying over the death of Daisy it becomes a mourning for all the souls he's seen lifted from this earth since he joined the war. He counts the people he couldn't save and cries harder when he realizes there's too many to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sense of Home - Harrison Storm
> 
> as always I'm sorry for any mistakes!! And this made me super sad to write:( sorry daisy you will be missed.


	16. I Can Feel Your Body Laying Right Beside Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would die for this, a suicidal passion  
> You and I were simply too alive to have had it

The war isn’t what he thought it would be. Not for him. He thought he would go over there, ninety pounds, and come back to Brooklyn maybe a couple months later in a box. And that's if he got lucky with a salvageable corpse. Yeah he wanted to fight and goddamn right he was every bit as willing to as he put on. But Steve knew, and never quite showed it, that he was going to die. And every time he stripped down for an exam he knew he was signing up to bite it. Bucky knew it too. He had the guts to say it to Steve out loud and guilt him for it. After Bucky left for basic he sent a letter back to Steve every week, not saying how he was doing in more than one line because he wanted to save the paper for challenging Steve’s unrivaled stupidity for wanting to join up. And Jesus, every time he got rejected from the Army Bucky slept a little easier that night. He’d even send a thank you to God above for realizing in his omniscience how bad of an idea it was to let Steven Grant Rogers anywhere near that goddamn war. 

But now they’re both here and both alive but both still as scared and angry as they were before Steve got here. Some nights Steve doesn’t remember he’s all big now and will cry silent tears into Bucky’s neck because he knows, _he just knows_ , this is their last night together and the minute he opens his eyes in the morning he’ll have an asthma attack and wake up the whole German army and kill every last one of the guys he is supposed to be leading. So Steve would cuddle real close, like he’s doing tonight, and grab onto Bucky as tight as possible. Bucky would punch him at first, thinking he’s laughing or getting fresh too close to all the other Commandos but then he would realize the shaking meant a lot worse than that. He’d feel the hot tears and soon enough he was shuddering too and they would sit there in the mud all over each other not knowing exactly why the other was doing it. And at the same time knowing damn well why.

Steve remembers the late nights where coughing fits and fevers kept him restless. Where, in his white noise youth, it was his mother who worried over his lungs and his small wrists and his big blue eyes that couldn’t manage to focus on one thing. And then when she died it was Buck with his batting eyes and chewed up lips that swore under his breath every time Steve went into another fit. Bucky never told him, but Steve knew he would go purple and that his body would start in on spasms that were so scary they wrangled tears out of Buck’s eyes. On one of those bad nights Steve caught that look on Bucky’s face, that fear racing over his features. And now while they lay in the mud it's the ghost of that look that clings to the tired outlines of Bucky’s war torn smile. 

“What?” Bucky suddenly asks. “You miss me or somethin’?” Bucky quirks a small smile after catching Steve’s watery stare. He tries to make it light but something about the curl of Bucky’s lips is far more vicious than they need to be. Steve can feel Bucky’s heart thumping wildly under his body and thinks for a moment, just a moment, that maybe the whole war could stop for a minute so him and Buck could just grab on to each other until they catch their breath. Every muscle in Steve’s body is rigid and pulled too tight but Bucky has a relentless grip on him so he tries to loosen up. It is here, even on the constant edge of death, that he feels a sliver of safety. 

Looking at red rimmed eyes and quivering lips he sees the mirror image of what he must look like. It takes every part of him to keep from pulling his best friend close and letting relieved tears sop into that unwashed brown head of hair for the rest of the night. But Steve just buries his selfishness and clenches his fists against Bucky’s sturdiness, _Jesus he’s so goddamn warm and real underneath him_ , and he responds to Bucky with a roll of his eyes. 

“Not even a little. I was just thanking the good Virgin Mary the other day for finally getting rid of you.” Steve glances up quick just to make sure the Bucky he knows will quip something snarky back and as he looks away from those messy dirty cheeks Bucky barks out a laugh that makes Dernier shift next to them. 

“Yeah I bet you were, you little fucker.” They both smile but Steve watches one last tear escape from Bucky’s eye. It rolls lazily down his right cheek and Steve unceremoniously goes to stop its trail. “I missed you. I mean, I absolutely fucking hate you for being here and you’re never gonna hear the end of it but shit I’m glad it's you.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve whispers in the cold night. “I know.” And they lay together until Steve finally drifts asleep. Bucky watches him all night, like a lot of nights when they end up like this, because even though it’s been months and Bucky can finally sleep without waking up thinking he’s still strapped to a table somewhere he just can’t believe that Steve is real and right underneath his bloodied hands. He can’t believe he’s bigger than him and leading an army. He can’t believe his asthma is gone and that he can finally see how fantastic red lips look in the light of a shitty bar. He can’t believe Steve can hear the soft whispers falling from Bucky’s mouth in both his ears now, clear as day. 

But he’s also mad as hell the Army laid a finger on him. Maybe it is Steve under this thick and heavy body. But, fuck, Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t bitter about losing the old Steve. The one he could wrap up in his arms at night and hold impossibly close, their limbs tangling together like unraveled thread. His skin might burn just as hot and his lips might be just as soft and his hands still grab him the same way but _fuck_. Where are those knobby knees that would bump into his when they sat across from each other at dinner? Bucky spent a lifetime knowing Steve’s body like he knows his own, now he’s gotta relearn the muscles and the strength and the absence of all that sickness. And he’s grateful, probably more damn grateful than Steve that he ain’t on the verge of something fatal but it’s not just about the way that body moves against him in a firefight or laying in a foxhole. Now everybody thinks they got Steve’s number when they don’t even know who he is. And what’s worse, Steve doesn’t seem to need Bucky in the same way. Not now with his powerful strides and commanding voice. Steve tried to reassure him when he first got out of Azzano and they found themselves in a long conversation about Steve's wild adventures while Bucky was away. He tried to convince him that nothing really changed. He was still Steve and he still loved him. He kept getting closer, leaning forward, looking damn eager to kiss Bucky. It had been too long, after all, since the last time they felt the pressure of one another's lips. But even though part of Bucky needed to feel Steve on him, over him, he pulled away, nauseous and head still swimming with chemicals and nightmares. Steve did his best not to let the hurt displayed on his face stay too long. It was only half because he was different now. Jesus, Bucky wasn't that shallow. In the end it didn't matter which way he got Steve as long as he got him. But Zola did a number on him and it took weeks for Bucky to let Steve touch him in the dark. Not that there were many opportunities but Steve always managed to make some, just in case. 

Once they started teetering into shy hand jobs and nervous _is this okay_ glances that hospital in France was destroyed and their stilted sexual advances halted. Daisy's death had jolted them both but it hit Steve a lot harder than either of them expected. He lay awake for a week straight talking to nobody unless it was necessary. Even his words with Bucky felt short and hollow. It hadn't bothered Bucky too bad, he remembered what it felt like the first time he lost a friend in the war. A real friend, not someone he met in passing like most of the guys he saw get blown to bits. They'd been damn lucky so far none of the Commandos had bit it and Bucky was anxiously awaiting the day that luck would run out. When Steve finally came back around they were back at a base meeting with Carter and Colonel Phillips over their next mission in Poland. Steve cornered him in a closet and fucked him next to a mop and bucket. Bucky was torn between rejoicing in the end of the drought and being offended he was sharing this moment with cleaning supplies and day old mop water. It was starkly different that time when they made love, Steve was as wild as Bucky had ever seen him and it both frightened him and thrilled him. Steve treated it exactly like it appeared to be; a quick, secret fuck. Bucky reveled in the violence of it. 

They were both remarkably, savagely different now. Steve with his golden reputation, righteous leadership, and vigilantly growing disillusionment with the war. He believed in the cause, sure. He knew he was doing the right thing most of the time. He kept on because of the innocents murdered and gassed and marched to death every day. But he had always had a problem with authority and that was no different now. It just took on a severe degree when it was thousands, millions of other lives on the line. The little kid with bruised ribs and bloodied knuckles had been amplified. Turned up ten notches and set free into the throngs of the European theater.

The boy who drew birds and brown haired boys on the fire escape in mid July seemed to have been stomped down, buried in the dull grey earth. Bucky wished he had the time to mourn him but Captain America kept leading him into fights.

And Bucky had changed from the most charming boy in New York to the Army's second greatest weapon. And the longer this war went on the more Bucky realized the truth in that. It'd been a long time since he'd done anything other than killing. He stood at Steve's side, the Army's first greatest weapon, with his few remaining shards of coherent personality. He swears on Christ he left James Buchanan Barnes in Brooklyn somewhere. Maybe on the fire escape out their apartment window or sitting on the docks somewhere next to a skinnier, happier Steve drawing sketches of the water at sunset. He doesn’t even know who he is anymore in the early morning grey of this wintry forest. Certainly not the boy Steve used to know and certainly not the kid the guys think they know now. He keeps leaving all these little pieces of himself everywhere he goes. Every time he pulls the trigger he is less and less of someone he used to count as whole. As it stands now, Bucky thinks he’s nothing but a body moving on it's own. No brain, no heart. Just reflex and obedience. Sometimes his brain gets so muddled and fuzzy Bucky doesn’t even know where he is but is too afraid to ask. He curses out Zola and Schmidt and the whole fucking German army when he has episodes like that. But once he gets killing or yelling at Steve for doing something stupid or laughing at Dum Dum for saying something stupid he doesn’t give a good goddamn who or where he is as long as he’s breathing.

And isn’t that the bare bones of war, death and laughter?

Before Bucky can give up and close his eyes before they have to be on the move he feels Steve shifting. In the night he was half on top of Bucky, keeping him the warmest he’s been for days but now he rolls off with a sniffle. Real quick, before he can check himself, worry goes through Bucky at the sound. He can’t help thinking to himself, _this big fat idiot got himself sick again_.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. Bucky forces himself to look up at him. Sure enough he can see Steve’s shoulders slump in his half upright position. “Did you sleep at all?” 

Bucky only gives a half smile before he looks away drawing his hands up to study the ever present dirt under his fingernails. Two months ago the guys stopped bringing up how Bucky never slept right anymore. Did anyone really sleep in this war anyway? It was amazing to the whole group that Dum Dum could knock himself out for hours, the big house cat that he was. Dernier slept six hours exactly, never more or less. He always took the morning watch shift. Morita could snag a good five hours if you let him but a few nights ago Bucky caught him wide awake in the early hours of the morning. They both watched him wring his hands for two hours until Dernier woke up for his shift. After that Morita squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to sleep until dawn. Gabe slept deep but it took him a while to drift off. Before Steve, and before the table, he would stay up with Gabe and talk about anything he could think of until he finally drifted off. Bucky always waited a few minutes to make sure Gabe was really out before he let himself drift away. It filled a little void for him, pretending he still had someone to look after. 

“You can’t keep-” 

“That’s what you keep saying, Steve, but ‘m fine. Not tired.” Bucky lazily shrugs a shoulder and sits up, running a hand over his hair to smooth it back. This war had done absolutely nothing for his once neat crop. His brown locks were wild and getting longer. He tried to keep it combed back but there wasn't always cause or time. Steve told him a couple weeks ago he preferred the ruffled look. Bucky grimaced and shoved hard at Steve's chest. _For an artist, you really don't understand style, huh?_ Later that evening he had Falsworth trim it instead of Steve to, pettily, prove his point. Not that it mattered since it was growing back with a vengeance. Steve liked to deliberately toy with it, curling it around his fingers and tugging with a satisfied smile on his face. 

Steve stares hard at Bucky in response to his obvious lie but they both drop the subject and get the others up and moving.

* * *

On their last mission no one got hurt but that didn’t stop Steve from somehow breaking a leg on their way back to camp. Dum Dum couldn’t stop laughing at the storm Bucky was making over it. The whole way back he kept laying into Steve about how much of an idiot he was and _Jesus H. Christ, you dumb motherfucker I oughta break the other one while we’re at it_. That just set the whole team off, even Steve who was grinning like the fool he was. But once they arrived and Steve was sent to the medical tent, a steaming Sergeant hot on his trail, the laughter and the angry annoyance subsided. It wasn’t because the two of them had never seen the inside of a medical tent before and had never witnessed the wailing and crying and dead silence of the soldiers, but instead it was the woman laying out on one of those cots. 

One of the nurses ushers Steve down a few places from the woman. He evaluates her thin form slumped on the thin mattress, her visible skin caked in mud and blood. The only real indication of her female form being the loose curls fanning around her and smudged red lips, a color too bright to be blood. It wasn’t uncommon to see a dying woman or child in their line of work but it wasn't often civilians were treated at military bases unless local hospitals or shelters had been obliterated. On top of that, she is alone and radiating a brutal familiarity that jars Steve's sanity.

Steve focuses his eyes on her golden hair as a nurse sets his broken bone. _She looks like Sarah._ She reminds him of his mother. A part of Steve realizes it's a far stretch to compare this stranger to her but he must be really fucking tired and out of it. Maybe all that laughter and having to sit through Bucky's tirade made him lightheaded. He flicks his gaze up to Bucky to gauge his reaction and go off of that.

Bucky is clenching his fists at his sides, a little tighter as he continues to eye the rise and fall of her chest. If not for that shaky movement neither of them would know the woman was still alive. 

“There you are, Captain Rogers. Do you need any assistance? I’ll have another nurse bring you a crutch but, like last time, I’m sure you’ll only need it for a day or two.” The nurse pats his good leg and takes a step away, shifting in wait for a response. Bucky can tell she’s eager to move on to her next patient, someone who needs real help. Not the fixing of a supersoldier’s mishap but a real dying man with real pain and real blood seeping out of his limp body.

“Oh uh, thank you ma’am. Thank you,” Steve sputters out looking back at the nurse in front of him. She nods and quickly turns away shouting over at two other nurses to help her with the next patient. The cot underneath him is soaked in red. Steve stares back at the woman as Bucky helps him to his feet, taking a second to rip his gaze from her to grumble some more at Steve for his idiocy. On their way back to their quarters he turns his head a fraction, not needing to concede to much movement since Bucky is holding onto him tight and close helping him walk, and says, "I miss ma."

"She reminded me of Sarah too, Steve. Shit, I miss her too." Bucky responds shaking his head and tightening his grip on Steve.

After Steve and Bucky make it back they curl up wordlessly around each other, sharing a too small cot but not giving a damn. Steve stays up thinking about the woman’s twitching fingers, one of them missing on her right hand, the wound remarkably fresh. She wore baggy dark clothes, men's, now that he thinks about it. And her feet were bare but so blackened with mud he couldn’t realize it at first. There were a lot, a whole goddamn lot, of heartbreaking things about war and as the days went by it didn't tear Steve up any less. He lays in the dark thinking about how she got here, how they all got here, and he grabs onto the fabric of Bucky's shirt and whispers over and over _why's it gotta be her, why's it had to be them?_ Because no matter how selfless Steve is, he can’t always be one man and sometimes he has to let that broken rage fill him up and overflow so he can right himself for the fight tomorrow. So now he's shivering with held back tears over his inadequacy and the sudden pang of missing his mother.

For Bucky, the woman gives him only one thought, one feeling. Maybe it was the sterile stark whiteness of the tent or the smell of blood and vomit and dirt everywhere but there was no tearing up of his soul when he saw her. He’d been seeing that for longer than Steve had. The only thing different here was the familiar blonde rolls of her hair. It sent an aching, empty feeling through him that propelled him back to 1936 when Sarah Rogers lay dying on a cot in Brooklyn. He remembered it too clearly for his liking and at every attempt to close his eyes he saw her grey skin and big glassy eyes. He remembered that half the time Bucky had to sneak Steve in to see his dying mother. If Steve got hit with anything that ward had he’d be dead in a day.

Bucky had to do more than just sneak him past the nurses. They were afraid to let a chronically sick kid like Steve come in and spread any illness or worse, come in and contract something he couldn’t shake off. Just what they needed was another Rogers to watch die on their cotton white sheets. So, sometimes Bucky bribed them with flowers he could barely afford to buy, or candy. He threw his charms their way, as best as his dignity could muster. He took a couple of 'em out dancing, or their girlfriends or their sisters, whatever they wanted. He even took young nurse Mary’s mother out for a spin, _she’s just been feeling so down since pa died oh please Bucky if you do this I’ll get the whole damn ward to look the other way. No one will bother you for hours_.

The last night Bucky spent alone with Sarah before his briberies and dates began she was as lucid as ever. She was laughing and joking and picking fun at the dirt on Bucky’s cheeks. She grabbed both of his calloused hands and brought them under her chin. She breathed in that smell of dirt and sweat and that wholly Barnes smell that the entire family could never shake. She closed her eyes and let the contact make her feel alive. She loved her two boys more than anything in the world.

“I won’t be shy about it, James,” Sarah whispered. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss you talking Steve down when he gets too fiery. I’ll miss you dancing in my house getting the neighbors mad at your racket and then getting Steve to join right on in,” She paused to open her eyes and laugh. “You were always so sweet. I know you’re gonna take care of him,” She paused to cough and catch her shaky breath. “James, my dear? Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” Bucky bit on his bottom lip, eyebrows drawn together with tears just begging to spill out. He shuddered thinking about how cold and frail her body had become since the sickness took over. He tried to picture her before with warmth. A memory flashed in front of him of her bouncing around her tiny kitchen stirring something up while she sang to the boys.

“He loves you.” She whispered it like a secret. Like she didn’t want anyone but him to know. Like it didn’t matter what else they talked about that night because that was the most important detail she could give him.

Bucky gave her a trembling smile and leaned in to kiss her forehead. Her cautious admission made him settle into a deep truth he had been pushing down for years.

“I know, Sarah. I love him too.”

* * *

He watches Steve clean blood off his knife. It's a tool neither of them had to use often but it had been a brutal hand to hand battle between him and a hydra agent. Steve’s side was still slowly bleeding from his own injury but he refused any medical care from Gabe and waved off everyone else’s concern. It would heal. It always healed. Steve wiped the knife off over and over long past it becoming clean enough. Bucky knew this wasn’t an intent for a pristine shine. There was something deeply wrong if Steve was this isolated, this quiet, and this detached from the Commandos. He didn’t know how this particular kill affected him any different than others. As seldom as any of them had to stab someone to death it certainly hadn’t been Steve’s first time doing it. He walks over to where Steve is sitting and crouches in front of him. The group is sitting around their makeshift camp just far enough from the two of them that Bucky can have a private conversation with Steve. 

“What’s going on, pal?” He watches Steve’s face remain unchanged and his hands continue to work over the bloodless weapon. “Stevie?”

He remains silent as he keeps on with his motions. Bucky knows he isn’t really ignoring him, he’s just working through what to say. And if he’s taking this long to say it then it must really hurt to even think it. After a solid minute of silence Steve finally stills and looks right into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky places his hands over Steve’s.

“I’m tired of murdering people. And I know it's not the same. They’re murderers too. But shit, Buck,” Steve shakes his head. “I’ve lost count.”

“Steve, Christ, you ain’t a piece of shit for smoking out some Nazis. You’re a hero. I know it's a shit hand we been dealt and yeah maybe we aren’t sleeping so well at night because of the things we gotta do but we’re doing it so people can be free.” Bucky moves his hands to cup Steve’s warm neck. _God, he’s the only thing on this godforsaken continent that has heat_. “We’re not calling ourselves murderers ‘cause if we do then we ain't making it through this war sane. We’re soldiers, Steve. We’re the good guys.”

It wasn’t typical of Bucky to be the one giving rousing speeches to boost morale. That was Steve’s designated area of expertise. Bucky didn’t even know if he believed any of the shit he just said to Steve. Of course he thought of himself as a murderer. All he did anymore was kill. Bucky's been hating himself ten times over for all the people he's snuffed out in this war, and he's bee doing that long before Steve even picked up a real gun. But when Steve got like this, when he started thinking as dark as Bucky thought, it was time to turn the tables. 

Steve just closes his eyes and leans into Bucky’s hold. He smirks a little before finally responding. Rolling those big blues eyes once he opens them back up.

“I know you don’t believe any goddamn word that just came out of your mouth.” Steve says and it makes Bucky's lips quirk up.

“I should leave the speeches to you then, huh, _Captain America_?”

“How do you deal with it?” Steve asks looking down at the knife still clutched in his hands.

“I don’t, Steve. This life is hell, this war is fucking hell, but I've got you. You've got me. We've got our guys. And maybe we ain't gonna be fine but we ain't gonna be fine together.”

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve gives Bucky a half grin like he's about to start teasing him.

“Shut the fuck up Rogers and start acting like the goddamn leader of this unit before I have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope - Jaden Smith


	17. The More I Swear I'm Happy, The More That I'm Feeling Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I been ignoring this big lump in my throat  
> I shouldn't be crying, tears were for the weak  
> The days I'm stronger, know what, so I say  
> That's something missing  
> Whatever it is, it feels like it's laughing at me through the glass of a two-sided mirror  
> Whatever it is, it's just sitting there laughing at me  
> And I just wanna scream  
> What now? I just can't figure it out  
> What now? I guess I'll just wait it out

There were very few moments Bucky found himself alone with Peggy Carter. In fact, the only time other than right now was after he came back from Azzano and was forced to give a statement and get evaluated over and over. She was one of the poor saps who got sent in to hear all about his time on the table. He, predictably, said shit. Even if he remembered all the things they did to him it wasn’t like he could say half of it out loud. All the other times he found himself around Agent Carter so was everybody else, or at least Steve. 

Now he got called in to give her a report about one of their recent ops the SSR sent them on. It was their bloodiest by far but it wasn’t supposed to be. Unlike their last missions, which were meant to be gruesome affairs, this one was intended to be gathering intel only. Crucial information that sent Barnes, Rogers, and Dernier deep undercover for eight days. But on the sixth day Steve decided he’d rather use his fists than his shitty German, which was actually very good but Bucky liked to tell him it wasn’t.

Peggy leads Bucky into a small tent designated as an office for the time being. They sit across a narrow table from one another as Peggy fires out arbitrary questions. When it's over Bucky doesn’t move. Maybe it's because he’s damn tired and doesn’t feel like getting out of the chair he’s in, which isn’t all that comfortable to begin with, or maybe it's because he needs to keep talking. He’ll be the last to admit that but nonetheless he rattles around his brain for an opener while Peggy cocks a curious eyebrow at him. If there is one thing he loves about this woman it's that he learned early on she doesn’t give a damn about his mouth because hers is just as bad. One day a few months back he found himself grumbling about something or other to Steve while she was close by and some foul language slipped out. He worriedly looked to her and began to apologize but she just retorted back with a recklessly inappropriate statement of her own. He fell half in love with her that minute.

“When we were out there, you know, when Steve decided to completely fuck over the mission and I had to take out that German like I told you...He kept talking at me. Like, actually making a half English half German speech at me like I gave a good goddamn what he thought. I mean I’m trying to kill him but he keeps saying I’m on the wrong side. _Falshen seite_. He’s saying it over and over until the last sputter of blood spat out his snarling mouth. I don’t know, it got me thinking I guess. I mean it's not the first time a Nazi has told me some dumb shit like that. Everyone I kill is telling me I chose the wrong side,” Bucky shakes his head while Peggy remains silent. “It's like this, Carter; they’re all telling us to move, this big bad army, this whole world. That you’re the scum. That you’re the one who has it all wrong.” He finishes.

“I know that it is easy to lose sight of the good you do here when it all feels so terribly horrific. But you must remember, when it's that big bad army up against you it's your duty to get the job done and end the war.” She says capping and uncapping the pen in her hands. Bucky's eyes cling to the unconscious movement.

“It's more than that,” Bucky continues with tired exasperation. “It's your duty to tell ‘em to fuck right off. Tell ‘em no, you dirty ass Nazi motherfucker, you move,” Peggy sits back in her chair, contemplating him and his words. “It's not enough to crucify them for having their sideways idea. We gotta tell ‘em why, show ‘em that they’re fucking dirt. How's the world gonna learn if we don’t? If we’re just killing to win? To prove who’s stronger? To come out on top?”

Silence stretches between them before Bucky adds, “But, Jesus, what if they’re right in a way they didn’t mean to be? I mean, I know I’m not a piece of shit for wanting peace. We all want this goddamn nightmare to end. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t got such a hard time killing it’ll turn me crazy. I’ll kill a hundred more Nazi bastards without blinking an eye, any of us would. But you gotta think...we’re all the bad guys because of that right there. Every one of us. We’re killing, Peggy. And then we’re just going to go home when this is over and what? Live with it? Feel honorable about it? Well I don’t. I feel like hell. I feel like - ”

“We all do. Every single one of us hates this war and wants to go home to our gardens and family lunches and pets and old friends. All of us, on every side, are sick of the death and sick of having to come up with reasons to keep on snuffing out the other.”

“You got a pet waiting at home, Agent Carter?”

“I have a desire for normality.” She smirks.

“And I have a desire to feel good about the man I am again. I know I’m on the right side, I don’t have any real doubt about that but I’m still a wreck, Carter. And I can’t tell Steve or the guys. I’m just sitting in this silent chaos.”

“I am by no means attempting to invalidate your hurt, Barnes, but we are all suffering in our own ways. You are not the only one who has taken lives.”

“But I am the only man to survive Zola.” As soon as Bucky says it he regrets it. He didn’t mean for the conversation to turn this way, to expose his real fear and shame. But this is what it's been leading up to, all these months of pent up worry and guilt and terror.

“I don’t know what the means, Bucky. You won’t tell anybody-"

“All the others before me died. And when he was done with the bodies they burned ‘em like Nazis do. I thought that was gonna be me. That I wasn’t even gonna make it back to Steve in a box because my ashes were gonna be mixed in with a hundred other sorry saps. But what he did worked on me, at least until Steve got me out. What I really mean is it isn’t just the blood and the the mud and watching Steve run around like he’s the sole leader of the free world that’s getting to me. I’m talking about how my whole body aches every minute of the day and it feels fucking impossible to feel anything else. I’m talking about how when my cuts and bruises are healing faster than the rest of the Commandos’ I get scared like I’m...and when Steve’s running I’m the only one who can keep up with him...and my bones feel different and I’m - ” He cuts himself off as unwanted tears spring to his eyes. He’s never uttered these words out loud. He has never told a soul about how afraid he is of what he has become. 

“You are...healing faster? Similar to Steve?” Peggy softly inquires. Her breath quickens with the pace of her heart. It isn’t impossible that Shmidt would have Zola try to recreate the serum or anything close to the effect of it. And it is certainly not impossible, if that be the case, for them to experiment on captives with it. That's rather expected. It's no secret that the Nazis like to experiment on their prisoners. But the idea, the fact that it could work and that it could work through this man sitting in front of her, the man whose sunken eyes reflect tiredness and pain rather than enhancement of any kind. Well, it's surprising.

“I’m not like Steve. I don’t know what Zola did to me. I know it hurt and I know I’m not the same,” Bucky puts his face in his hands as he regains his composure. “I’m no supersoldier, no hero. 'M just fucked up.”

“Sergeant Barnes, I trust that you understand how...valuable and important this information is. I can’t keep this to myself when Zola is still out there and quite frankly when you are serving in this army in the state that you are in.”

“ _Peggy_ , I didn’t tell you that to help you win the war. It ain’t gonna do you any good anyway. You’ve got your Captain and everyone knew Zola was doing something to somebody. I didn’t mean to say those things. But now that I did I’m begging you...I need this to stay between you and me. I don’t want Steve to know and I certainly don’t want the whole damn Army to know. I just need, I want your word on this. I need you to hear me and, fuck, even pity me if you want, but don’t sell me out.”

“What if you need help?” She leans forward with a worried look Bucky has never seen on her face before. This look is softer, more vulnerable like it’s her that has something she doesn't understand running through her veins.

“You know damn well you can’t give it to me.” Bucky scoffs. Peggy considers him with a dismal expression. 

“Alright. You have my word. But may I ask you one thing?” She nearly whispers it but their so close right now it doesn’t matter. Bucky nods in response. “Why haven’t you told Steve?”

“Lotta things I don’t tell Steve.”

“That’s a lie and you know this is different.” She narrows her brown eyes and stares him down. 

“When I first saw him I thought I was dreaming or dead. I thought I had to be one or the other to see that fuck again. But when I felt his shoulders, when I saw how he looked with that silly helmet...and when I finally realized I was alive and he was real I just felt this panic. It’s selfish. I know that. But even though he’s still my Steve and I love him 'til I die it's all different now. He’s carrying us on his back. It used to be me holding us up after fights. Now he gets knocked down and he’s up and back at the brawl before I can blink an eye. I don’t want to admit that he’s different because it feels like I’m calling our old life dead. Like it's gone and buried and never coming back. But that’s what it feels like. And yeah most the time I don’t expect to make it outta this war alive and a lot of days I think neither is Steve. How do you have a hero like that not die a martyr? And with his dumb self-sacrificing ass he’ll get himself killed just to play the part. And without even knowing it too.” Bucky laughs bitterly.

“That isn’t answering the question.”

“What I’m getting at is that so much has changed that ain’t ever going back. And if it’s hell for me to get through then how much worse is it for him? Sure he can breathe right for the first time in his life and he’s doing what he always wanted but how can I add on my problems? He already looks at me a little different some nights when neither of us are able to sleep. He eyes me like I’m fragile, like I’m one tap away from shattering. He’s right, maybe, but I’m never gonna tell him that. He has tomorrow’s fight to win he doesn’t need mine. Steve is the realest thing in this world and telling him the truth will make that real to. It’ll turn me into someone else, I know it. I’ll be the second rate test run supersoldier who can’t keep nightmares at bay half the time. I’ll be the official best killer of the unit, even better than I was before Azzano and how do you figure that I got like that? I’m not telling him because I don’t want my reality to become science fiction. This isn’t one of those stupid comics they make about us.”

“You don’t want to look at him and feel less than equal because you think you have this inherent weakness now,” Peggy says reaching a hand out for his. “You’re not weak, Bucky. You’re human and you’ve been dealt a bad hand. You have been used and hurt. You are going to survive this part if not for nothing other than sheer stubbornness. You like to complain that's Steve’s best quality but you’ve got it just as bad. And we’re going after Zola. We’re going after the regime that tore you apart. Take heart in that at least.”

“What if I can’t find the strength to do that? What if I still find myself feeling lost in someone else’s cause?”

“I don’t believe for a minute you truly feel that way. You know what you value and you’re perfectly strong enough to keep fighting for it. You know your side, Barnes. As soldiers who fight for the liberation of others, of millions Sergeant, it's our unrelenting duty until this fuckfest is over to tell the other side to ‘move’ as you put it. Even when it feels like half the world, including yourself at times, is telling you that you are mistaken you have to anchor yourself-”

“Plant yourself like a tree.” Bucky interrupts looking up at her under his lashes. 

“And look them in the eye and say ‘no, you move’.” She finishes.

“You sound like Steve.” He smirks. 

“I sound like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Now - Rihanna (I don't care who you are this song goes hard e v e r y t i m e)
> 
> I've had this chapter done for a LONG time so it has a special place in my heart. I really loved toying with the idea that Bucky had a bigger influence on Peggy than we get to see in the mcu, like with her Iconic "no, you move" quote. Also thought it was a good time to show some Bucky angst since we haven't centered too much on it in regards to his time in Azzano:))


	18. I Remember The Way You Shook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And you said no  
> These demons will fall  
> You're so precious to us all  
> And I said I  
> I can't do this alone  
> I still need you to hold  
> So don't let go, don't let go, don't let go, don't let go, don't let go, don't let go  
> Because I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid

1944

Neither of them think a soul knows or notices, or at least Steve certainly doesn’t. But the stares and the touches and the whispers tell the Commandos all they need to know. Peggy was the first to realize it, _of course she was_. But she’s never said a word. She just watches them with that smirk, sometimes shaking her head, impressed with the shit they get away with. 

The day she put two and two together the idiotic pair thought they were alone. Naturally, Bucky took the opportunity to grab and knead at Steve’s ass. Steve whipped his head over at Bucky with wide eyes. They were going over some map, Bucky wasn’t all that invested in listening. Not because he didn’t care about the mission it's just that he'd gone over it half a dozen times and more than anything he wanted to spend his rare alone moments with Steve doing something else. Something worthwhile. It was frankly impressive that Steve hadn't jumped him first, as was usually the case.

“What the hell, Buck?” Steve whisper yells shifting his eyes back and forth between Buck’s sinful smile and the closed door. They were back in London planning something that seemed a lot bigger and badder than anything they'd done before. Steve was taking it seriously, so was Bucky but, come on. Alone? In a whole room with a table and not a broom closet? It was an obvious invitation Bucky wholeheartedly blamed the U.S. Army for.

“What? Nobody’s here, Stevie,” Bucky nibbles on Steve's earlobe making him shiver. “Let me touch you.” 

“Jesus, not here.” Steve gets out. He tries to pull away but it's halfhearted. Bucky is roaming his hands all over Steve’s body, massaging his shoulders, squeezing his hands, rubbing his crotch, and grabbing his face to finally lay a kiss on him. Steve shamelessly groans into Bucky’s open mouth, who laughs at the noise.

“Maybe just real quick? A little bit of something? I wanna hear you gasping my name, sweetheart. It's been too goddamn long,” Bucky bites Steve’s neck over and over trying to get more noises to come out of that pink mouth. For further encouragement he begins grinding into Steve’s thigh while he slips a hand down his pants, rewarding Bucky with a deep moan from Steve. “That's right, baby.”

They both let their eyes close as they move against each other, breathless. Neither hear the click of the door or look up as Peggy Carter takes two steps into the room to see Bucky back Steve against the table. Neither notice her stop short and quirk her head to the left to study them quizzically. Neither notice Peggy watching as Steve roughly grabs Bucky and spins them both around before bending Bucky down over the map. Neither hear her mutter under her breath, _I knew it, I fucking goddamn knew it_. And neither notice how she silently leaves and then stands guard outside the door for the next hour. A whole hour exactly she notes as she checks her watch continuously while shaking with disbelieving laughter. When they finally reappear there is no trace left of what they were doing behind that closed door. Peggy simply eyes them up and down with a cocked brow before handing a folder to Steve. 

“Did you both finish?” She asks with a tilt of her head. Steve opens and closes his mouth, a deep blush creeping onto his cheeks. Bucky bites his lip to keep from letting a smile betray him but even as the first wave of humor hits he’s soon enough got his own blush to keep under control. All three share looks with one another before Peggy elaborates, “Discussing the next operation in France? The team is waiting out front for the both of you.”

After that Steve swears to Bucky she must know, _she's gotta, Buck, you saw the way she was practically laughing at us_. Peggy’s smart as a whip, clever as hell, there is no way two fools like them could keep this from her. But Bucky reassures him she hasn’t got any idea, not because he believes that, hell no, she knows for sure and to be completely honest Bucky thinks she's had an idea about it for a long while now. But somehow Bucky thinks that won’t settle well with Steve who wants nothing but mutual respect with the most badass woman the two of them have had the pleasure of fighting a war with. From then on the two of them try to keep their sexual endeavors to the confines of a more private place, somewhere where Peggy Carter can’t find them. But no matter their efforts similar instances happen at least three more times over the course of the next few weeks. Steve is to blame for two of them, honest, Bucky tried to turn him down both times but Steve is an annoyingly stubborn fuck. One of the other times was another closet rendezvous that took ten minutes to coerce Bucky into. Peggy walked by when they crept out. She nodded at them as she passed by. _Nodded_. He punched Steve in the gut after Peggy walked out of sight.

As for when the Commandos put it together...well it was a process for some of them. Steve doesn’t really know that they see it but Bucky, who has known a couple of them longer can tell when he’s been discovered. But they don’t say anything so neither does he. 

Bucky lets Dum Dum make wife jokes at him, calling him Mrs. and Steve’s reliable old lady. A part of him, a very big part of him, kind of gets off on hearing himself connected to Steve like that. He hasn’t brought that up to Steve but he sees it does something for him too. That devilish smirk he throws Bucky’s way is telling. 

It was one time and only the one time when a Commando caught them together. They were all laid up in the mud somewhere in southern Germany. They were resting against trees or on the solid cold ground huddled around Gabe as he stoked a fire while Bucky and Steve scouted the area. Morita decided that once those two made it back it was time for a game. After another ten minutes rolled around he got impatient and got up to get Steve and Bucky to come back. It never took them this long to scout.

What he and the other Commandos didn’t know was that Steve was currently engaging in unsavory activity with Bucky up against a tree. Here’s how it started:

First Steve and Bucky, eager for a minute alone, jumped at the opportunity to scout the area around the camp. Even though all of them had done it together they claimed it wouldn’t hurt to double check. This is a war they’re in after all.

Then once Steve deemed it safe he pushed Bucky hard up against a thick tree. Bucky hadn’t expected it or the hungry kiss he was met with but he wasn’t complaining. He did, of course, expect some kissing, maybe even a quick hand job, but not for Steve to fuck him up against a tree with the Commandos one hundred yards away. 

Pants were getting undone and sweat was beading on foreheads. They quieted each other by keeping their lips interlocked. No matter how many times he’d done it Steve never got sick of biting and licking at Bucky’s lips. Bucky didn’t find it all that bad either. 

And that's how Morita found them. Completely locked around each other up against a tree, moaning and gasping against each other loud enough for Morita to be well and truly scandalized. He tried to move, to back away, to run back to camp but he was glued to his spot listening and watching. 

“Come on sweetheart,” Bucky goaded. “That all you got? I want you to give it to me harder, baby. That's right, fuck me harder, Stevie. Fuck yes.” Morita had suspected those two were closer than they let on, and had discussed it briefly at intervals with the other Commandos, but seeing it here out in the open of fucking enemy territory was another story. He thought, _Jesus, it really couldn’t wait?_ A good eye roll and exasperated sigh and Morita was trudging back to their makeshift camp feeling overall like he might as well have walked in on his parents having sex. 

* * *

The game Morita has in mind is less fun and more deeply depressing. He goes first, talking about how exactly his life is going to be once he gets back. Bucky not so subtly snuggles up against Steve’s chest, claiming he wants something comfortable to lean against, _yeah make your jokes Dums but I got the best spot in the house_. Dum Dum hefts a deep laugh before Morita has him go next. He talks about who he is going to marry after the war. Where they are going to live. What kind of house. How many kids, dogs, cars. He’ll go to church with his wife every Sunday and take her to eat lunch at the park after. And when they have kids they’ll do that then too. After him Dernier goes, then Falsworth, then finally Gabe. 

“Oh, she is going to be a fucking knock out. A real doll. And we’re gonna make love every day. Every hour.” Gabe closes his eyes and tilts his head back taking in the tops of the trees and smoky night air.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters around a cold laugh. He keeps alternating between listening to their silly romantic tales with eyes closed or a fluttering lazy gaze. He’s tired from marching all day and getting fucked up against a tree. His back is feeling the worst of it, even through his layers it was still uncomfortable. All he wants to do is sink into the depth of Steve’s hold and sleep for a few years. "That sounds kinda nice." He adds quieter, only for Steve to pick up.

“Oh fuck off, Jones.” Dum Dum bellows. But he ends up chuckling with the rest of them. 

“And we’re gonna have three or four kids. Haven’t decided. But I think those are good numbers,” He nods his head. “They’ll be just like their mother. She’ll be better than me in every way. I won’t deserve her, you know? There was this girl when I was in grade school. Oh god, she was incredible. My first love. Mmm, when I get back I should call on her,” He waits a beat before turning to Steve and a dozing Bucky, “What about you two? Gonna forgo the wife and kids? Marry each other and die in each others arms?” Dum Dum laughs heartily but everyone else just chuckles and smiles. They don’t ever outrightly talk about their relationship because they aren’t supposed to know about it and they know that. But Gabe can’t help but make the crack about it when Bucky is draped over Steve like that. Bucky doesn’t flinch so Steve assumes he's out already, which is great because he never sleeps these days. Steve swallows before trying to brush off the joke.

“Bucky's always been the marrying type. He’ll find a nice girl and I’ll be living in their spare room doing their laundry for them all the time.”

“Oh come on Steve,” Dum Dum prods. “Just make something up for us.”

“Give us the artist’s take on Steve Rogers’ bright and happy future.” Falsworth adds. Steve sighs. His right arm is getting a little numb from Bucky’s weight but he still refuses to shift. If there was a future to think about this would be it, he thinks, his arm falling asleep because of Bucky. Waking up in the mornings warm from his closeness. Coffee and newspapers and birds outside the window and car horns honking too early in the dawn. But he can't tell them that, can he?

“Okay, alright. I guess after the war...we’ll go home. Back to Brooklyn. And the first night we get back we’ll go dancing. Then Bucky will get a job, something better than the docks or the garage. Something he deserves. Maybe he'll even go to school. And I’ll draw and sell those drawings. And we’ll get filthy rich and move right to the very top of New York.” He pauses to take a deep breath. Or maybe it’ll be different, he thinks. _We’ll get back and the whole city will have changed. The sidewalks will look different and the buildings will feel shorter. Maybe the kids won’t be there playing in the streets and maybe Mr. Rothschild stops selling oranges in the summer. Or it’ll all be exactly the same but we’ll see it all distorted like we’re looking through old glass windows._

“Married?” Falsworth asks. Next to him Morita connects the toe of his boot with Falsworth's leg but he continues to look expectantly on at Steve. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever find a girl who’ll have me,” Steve laughs lightly trying not to be dark. Peggy goes through his head but no matter how much he loves and admires her he can’t bring himself to see a future without sleeping beside Bucky. He knows it's impossible, wrong, but he can't fucking picture anything else. “Besides, I can get by on my own.” Falsworth nods like it's an answer he expected but didn’t want. Subtly, Morita exhales relief. 

“You don’t have to,” Bucky murmurs with his eyes still shut. It's an exchanged they’ve been having for nearly a decade now. Steve trying to make himself be lonely when he doesn’t need to. They all look at him and Bucky can feel it so he burrows in deeper pretending it didn’t happen. But then he lets Steve’s words sink in and he can’t stand the silence around it anymore. “You dumb shit,” Bucky starts, sitting up and opening his stormy eyes. But from there Bucky doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t feel like making up some story about a little wife and three kids in a brownstone. He’s tired of thinking about Steve apart from him, living out the life he’s supposed to when he could be doing it with Bucky. But he knows, goddamn it, he knows it's useless and terrible and selfish. But he's sick to death of lying to himself and Steve. There ain't no way they get out of this war and part ways, marry two beautiful girls for the normalcy of it all. It's ideal, safe. But it sounds fucking shitty to Bucky's ears.

“Listen pal,” Bucky begins again, a little soft and a little husky from tiredness. He rubs his left hand over his eyes. “You’re not dying alone in some Brooklyn apartment. Stop being a sad ass. Jesus, it's a game, Steve. Make something happy up.”

“I got an idea,” Dum Dum interjects. “Let's all do it for him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Morita chimes in. “Steve is gonna go back and go to art school.”

“He’s gonna get famous from it. The next goddamn Van Gogh.”

“We’re gonna have his million dollar pictures hanging in our homes and we’ll all get to brag we knew the guy in the old days.” Morita finishes.

“And then he’s gonna marry the love of his life. They’ll get a nice place, a nice uh, what do they call ‘em Bucky?” Dernier taps at his chin. 

“A brownstone.” Bucky offers with a shy smile. The fake life they're making up sounds nice. He can almost picture it.

“Yeah, he’ll live in one of those and you guys will get a dog.” Dernier continues looking between Steve and Bucky.

“You guys? What happened to the love of his life?” Bucky asks smiling innocently before his throat goes dry with realization. His bubbling laughter turns awkward as he tries to swallow, glancing back at Steve. Then he flits his eyes around the group, trying to see if they’re hearing it the same way Bucky is hearing it. Morita is biting his lips and looking anywhere else because he just fucking knows if he acknowledges the elephant in Germany he’ll be skinned alive. At least that's the impression Bucky’s sharp expression gives him. Bucky looks back at Steve, who just stares a little wide eyed right back. Bucky tries to deflect, tries to cover it all up but it comes out choppy and weak, “Oh, I’m just living with them right? Can’t get a girl of my own after all this time?”

“It’s okay, Buck, you can do all the housework for us.” Steve adds encouragingly.

“Yeah, exactly what I want Rogers, to be your little maid. I bet I'll end up raising your damn kids for you too.” Bucky tries to laugh but his throat is still a little tight and he can tell Steve is feeling the same way. Gabe is the first to speak and get the game back on track. From there, there’s no mention of Mr. and Mrs. Rogers-Barnes or their future dog. And there is definitely no mention of what they were getting up to back there against that tree.

* * *

1945

Long days and nights of fighting and running and killing turn into months, torturous and endless. They weigh down on the men, they weigh down on the whole world. The Commandos feel it in the sinew of their muscles and in the marrow of their bones. Bucky feels it on his skin like a fine layer of dirt. He feels older yet ageless, perfectly out of balance with his humanity and sanity. Steve feels heavy, burdened, and fucking exhausted. He wants it all to end. He wants it to end so the deaths will stop, for the soldiers and nurses to go home. And selfishly so that Bucky will live. The longer they're out here the more reckless it feels like they become. Bucky took a knife to the thigh two weeks ago. Steve wants the war to stop so he can tuck Bucky away, safe.

Phillips and Carter, and even Stark, keep saying the war is nearing a close. It'll end soon. But whenever he hears that he looks to Bucky and sees the doubt on his features. He sees the apprehension and distrust. Some days, most days, _all days_ , it feels like this war will never end. That Steve and Bucky and the Commandos will be fighting for the rest of their lives. And maybe they're right about that. Maybe they'll die in the next few days and it will have been the way they foresaw it. Maybe Steve will run out of his dumb luck and get a bullet to the head. Maybe Bucky will get a knife to the neck.

Right now, they're back in London going over a mission to finally catch Zola. Bucky is white as a sheet as they discuss it, keeping his eyes down and away. Steve still doesn't know everything that happened when Zola had him, what exactly it was that he did to Bucky. He refuses to talk about it other than make offhand jokes that set Steve on edge rather than entertain him. Steve once snapped at him in frustration. It was a mistake and he knew it as he did it but it had all built up. Now, Steve finds that he doesn't really care about the dirty details, he's furious and murderous about it regardless. When Phillips is finished Steve nods dutifully at the Colonel and dismisses his team. They have the night off before they leave tomorrow afternoon and Dum Dum deems it the perfect opportunity to get wasted at the closest pub. Stark eagerly agrees and plans are set in motion. Steve tries to get out of it but Bucky claps a hand on his shoulder and shakes it gently.

"Come on, Stevie," Bucky says with a grin and for a second Steve sees Brooklyn sunshine in the dim lighting of the war bunker. "Let's have some fucking fun before throwing ourselves back in the fire, eh?" Bucky doesn't seem overly excited about the night himself but Steve thinks its just carry over emotion from the mission briefing. Steve concedes, because how can he not when it's _Bucky?_

After the team disperses and Howard Stark stops poking at Steve asking him to test some new armor he and Bucky leave for his room. An actual room. They haven't slept on anything softer than dirt in weeks. They walk into the day light, Bucky following slowly behind, putting distance between them.

"Doesn't this seem too easy?" Bucky asks. Steve stops walking, pausing on the cobblestone and turning to face his friend.

"What d'you mean? It's a moving train. Full of Hydra agents. That doesn't sound that easy to me." Steve answers.

"Yeah," Bucky stares at his feet. "I don't know I guess I just feel sick that I'm gonna see him again." Bucky flicks a glance up at Steve, a snap assessment. He does't reply right away, thinking maybe Bucky'll continue and maybe even by some miracle offer a sliver of information about _why_ he'd be scared. But Bucky just takes the few steps up to Steve and they start walking again. The silence is lengthy before, "Steve I don't know if I can bring him back alive." Bucky looks back up at Steve, eyes icy but sad. If they were back in Brooklyn, if they were still kids, then Steve thinks Bucky would be crying right about now. But he's not the same. He cries still, but the automatic switch to tears is muffled, blurred, stuffed away. Bucky likes silence, now, more than delving into his emotions. Maybe it's because they have an audience now with the team. Maybe it's because he's just trying to be braver, grow up. But Steve thinks its neither of those two. He thinks it has to do with being tortured. Carter told him later, and the Commandos confirmed, that Bucky was the only prisoner who lived under Zola's captivity. Sometimes, in the moments that Bucky stares off at nothing Steve is afraid he'll freeze like that and never come back.

"I don't blame you but our orders are to bring him back alive," Steve reminds him. They reach their building and head inside, taking the stairs to the second floor. It's bland and nonthreatening, the walls barren and the lighting a harsh yellow. The baby blue paint makes Steve sick. "But if he were to get caught in the line of fire or, God forbid, fall off the train, well. These things happen in war, right?"

"Well, Captain," Bucky leans against his door frame with bright eyes. "It would be a goddamn shame if that happened."

"You coming inside? We could get some sleep before meeting up with the guys tonight. I think I need it." Steve rubs his eyes. Bucky nods and they walk in. The room is terribly small, not that they mind. It's more than they need. There's two doors, one for the closet and the other leading to the bathroom. The bed is bigger than the army issue cots and bedrolls. For that Steve is grateful. They stand by it stripping out of their dirty uniforms. The room filling with a vacant silence that makes Steve's mouth dry up. One of Steve's boots won't undo and he can feel the agitation boiling up from his stomach. Bucky must sense it because he leans down to do it himself before Steve can crack a tooth from clenching his jaw too hard. They stand in their undershorts still not saying a word. Without preamble Steve follows Bucky into the bathroom where they take turns washing their faces. When they're done they stand back watching each other in the mirror. It's a tight fit in the slight bathroom but neither notice.

"Stevie?" Bucky asks Steve's pale reflection. He's looking stricken and worn, a sure result of the next mission already weighing down on him when the grime from the last one has yet to be washed off. Steve can't imagine what Bucky's thinking in regards to Zola. He wasn't there with him. He just knows that he'd do anything in the world to get Bucky to stop looking like he's lost in a storm. He wants to make it all go away, all that brokenness and nervousness that only he can see. He wants to make it vanish.

"Yeah, Buck?" His hand rests lightly on the small of Bucky's back, thumb rubbing his soft skin.

"Can we," Bucky sucks in a gulp of air. He looks unsure but his eyes still cling to Steve's. "Can we take a bath first? Before we get in bed?" And he looks so hesitant and _young_ Steve can do nothing but kiss him in response. Steve was tired when they came in but now he feels awake enough to give Bucky exactly what he wants. Bucky seems to relax when Steve moves around him to fill the bathtub. The sound of rushing water feels deafening but Steve can tell it's oddly doing wonder's for Bucky's attitude. Some of his own tension releases as they remove their undershorts and simultaneously step into the tub. It's not done filling but Bucky sits down in the water, keeping his knees to his chest so as to leave room for Steve. Steve takes his spot in the warm water, stopping it's flow once it's up to their chests. They sit across from one other in silence. Steve watches as Bucky closes his eyes and leans his forehead against his knees. Steve runs a hand through the messy brown hair feeling the dirt and catching a little leaf in one of his passes. He bites a lip to tame his smile at the discovery. He knows Bucky isn't in the mood to joke so he flicks away the orange carnage without a whisper. It takes nearly an hour for Bucky to declare he's had enough and wants out but not before making Steve get out first so he has enough room to sink under the surface. He comes back up brushing his fingers through his wet hair, combing it back and trying to rid it of dirt. His nose scrunches as he feels how dirty it really is then he goes under again. It's simple. It's everyday, even domestic. And Steve is hopelessly mesmerized by it.

Bucky stands and Steve reaches out with two arms to help him out of the tub. They walk wet and naked out of the bathroom and head towards the bed. Bucky sits down slow, tentative while Steve follows to lean against the headboard. Bucky looks at him expressionless as Steve pats his chest to get Bucky to come lay over him.

"Will you, um," Bucky swallows. Water drips from his limp hair onto his shoulders and neck. Steve sees the goosebumps rise on his skin and pulls at the blanket they both sit on to get it over Bucky. "Will you please comb my hair? I know you're tired but I just want, um..." Steve relaxes his shoulders and offers Bucky a warm smile trying to somehow send Bucky some of his calmness. The goosebumps remain and any second now Steve thinks he'll hear chattering coming from Bucky's mouth. He doesn't. Bucky stays still as Steve rolls off the bed in one swift movement.

"Yeah, sure thing, pal," Steve goes to one of the bags lying on the floor and digs around for Bucky's comb. He has two but he prefers the bigger one. His hair is too thick for the little one to do anything useful right after a wash. He finally finds the comb he wants and falls back onto the mattress. Steve leans against the headboard again and pulls Bucky between his legs. The brown locks are unruly, even curly. Steve thinks it's absolutely incredible. "Don't cut this yet, will ya?" Bucky hums but remains silent while Steve gently grooms him. Steve works out the tangles and combs it neat. He keeps going long after the job is done. If Bucky wanted it to be done out of necessity he would have done it himself. He wants Steve. He wants the comfort. The safety. After too long in ashen silence Steve hears Bucky take a breath to speak.

"I'm afraid." Comes Bucky's quiet, shaky voice. Small, as if it were a child's. Steve thinks to himself how apt that is, how fear really does tend to make children out of everybody when things are all said and done. A flash of a young and teary-eyed Bucky goes through Steve's mind.

"What is it you're afraid of? Seeing Zola again?" Steve's hand stills and Bucky turns to look back at him with wide eyes. He looks like a cornered animal. It sends a spike of anxious worry through Steve to see Bucky this vulnerable. He can sense the shaking before it starts and tries to pull Bucky in. He only shudders harder and pulls back enough to look Steve in the eyes without going cross-eyed.

"I'm afraid of seeing him. I'm afraid of what it will do to me. I'm afraid of what I might do to him. I'm afraid of-" _dying_. "Of, of losing you," Bucky swallows thickly and looks down. "I want it to be different. I want our lives to be different. Our world, you know? I want to leave. Go home. I want to _live_. And I think I really wish it could be like that. But the second Zola goes through my head I know it's a fantasy. A big fucking lie. Maybe in some other war we'd get to go home. We'd get to live, me and you. Together even. I wish I could live. I wanna live."

"Don't fucking talk like that." Steve admonishes. Bucky is tightening his hands into fists, grasping handfuls of the blanket around and under him. His lip is trembling but still he hasn't started crying. Steve feels a cold dread seep into his bones at Bucky's words. He hasn't been this honest in years. Maybe never. To admit his fear of death? It was something Steve never thought he would do, thought none of the guys would do let alone Bucky.

"How can I not? I look at you...I look at you and it all feels like smoke. A great dream. You remember that creek we came upon? Crystal blue and ice cold? So peaceful and beautiful but right in the middle of a goddamn war. I've never really loved nature, you know that. But, fuck. I wish I could be that unbothered, wish I could be that indifferent. See I only really wanna live if it's for you." Bucky refuses to look back up at Steve, his vision blurring for the first time in ages. The tears come heavy and fast, burning their way down Bucky's reddening cheeks. These are poisonous secrets he's giving away. He thinks that maybe now that they're out they might stick to Steve's skin and tear down to his bones like acid. Bucky chokes at the thought.

"Bucky," Steve's voice deepens letting him know he's about to give a lecture or a speech but Bucky isn't in the mood for fucking advice or kind words. He wants understanding. He wants Steve to cry with him. "Please, listen to me-"

"No, Steve," Bucky tries for a tired sigh but it catches in his throat. "I know what you're gonna say. I don't wanna be cheered up right now. I don't want some uplifting words of righteousness from Cap. I want you. I want you to feel," Bucky takes one of Steve's hands and places it over his heart. "What I feel."

"You think I don't? You think I'm not scared? I'm terrified, Buck. But we're here. Not in Brooklyn. We have a job to do-"

"Jesus, Steve!" Bucky yells. He shoves Steve's hand away and scoots to put distance between their bodies. "I don't wanna hear it. For fuck's sake, I'm not your fucking soldier. Look at me, Steve. _Look_ at me! I'm not marching for you right now. I'm sitting in bed with you fucking begging for you to _hear_ me. Jesus fuck, I fucking-" Bucky chokes on his words and finally tumbles over the edge, curling in on himself and giving in. He's exhausted. His feet hurt. They've been bleeding for 48 hours straight. His jaw hurts from clenching too hard. His head hurts from lack of sleep and not enough food. He's eating his rations but it isn't enough. Just like it isn't enough for Steve. Every inch of him aches and feels like its tearing itself apart over and over. And Steve is preaching at him. Bucky would scoff if he wasn't drowning in his own tears.

"Fuck," Steve says. He tries to creep closer to Bucky, eliminating the space he had put between them. "Jesus, pal. I didn't mean...Buck, honey I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Doesn't matter Steve," Bucky wipes the back of his hand against his running nose. "Doesn't fucking matter. It was stupid anyway just forget I said anything. Drop it."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fuck you, you know I'm scared too. You know I'm afraid of every mission we get assigned. I'm afraid of someone dying on my watch and having to carry that and I'm fucking goddamn afraid that one of these days it's going to be you. What am I supposed to do when that happens, huh? What am I supposed to do when it's your life that gets snuffed out and I'm left to sit and wade in the dust? I can't fucking live like that. I can't fucking live without you and I don't _want_ to. I don't want to and I'm fucking afraid that if I do lose you then I won't be able to...I won't have the strength to...I ain't gonna hang on if it's not _you_ at the other end of the rope. Nothing's worth it if you're gone," Steve takes a deep breath. His voice had risen halfway through his tirade causing Bucky's breath to quicken, his heart to pound out of his chest in adrenaline. "I do feel what you feel. You're scared but we all are. And I know this might mean shit to you but I'm not gonna let you die. As long as I'm still living so are you. That's how it works. I don't care if God or the devil has another plan, they go through me first." Steve's anger hangs heavy in the air smothering Bucky and fogging his brain. This kind of devotion is typical of Steve but he shouldn't make promises he can't keep. Bucky shakes his head.

"I can't count on that, sweetheart. You aren't stronger than God or the devil. You're just like the rest of us. You bleed. You die. _That's_ how it works," Bucky watches the twitch of Steve's lips waiting for him to keep arguing but by some divine intervention he shuts up. Steve nods his head once then lifts a hand to brush back his dry hair. Bucky realizes he never washed his blonde mop. Just got out to let Bucky rinse his. "Let's drop it, alright? Let's get some shuteye before Dum Dum comes knocking at your door." Steve nods again then shifts so they can lay next to each other. Anger ekes out into fatigue. Steve tilts his head to the side, looking away from Bucky so he can't see him worrying his lip until it bleeds. Bucky heaves one more sigh before slipping his hand into Steve's. He doesn't want to fall asleep fighting. For fuck's sake, he didn't want to fight with him at all today. Bucky tries to stomp down the pit of anger he still feels, wanting a semblance of peace to hold onto as he drifts away.

They both slip in and out of consciousness, forgetting where they are and if it's safe to both be sleeping. Field habits die hard. Steve watches Bucky through slits when he comes to every ten minutes. Bucky tightens his hold on Steve's hand whenever he slides into reality again. The sleep is choppy and unsatisfying but both are grateful for the warmth and momentary respite from the relentless war outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Exist I Exist I Exist - Flatsound


	19. On This Champagne, Drunken Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't wanna see what I've seen  
> To undo what has been done  
> Turn off all the lights  
> Let the morning come

It’s golden light and messy piano notes filtering in around them. They showed up late so the boys are already tipsy. Stark is gone completely and dancing with three nurses at once. Even Peggy is looking softer around the edges as she wins her third arm wrestle of the night. Bucky sits down at her side and throws an arm around her shoulders cheering her on with genuine enthusiasm. Steve stands by watching as she shoots Bucky a sneaky grin and cashes her fourth win against another sorry soldier. A bartender comes around with drinks in his hands and sets them down in front of Peggy. She pushes one towards Bucky and one towards Gabe then keeps one for herself. Bucky accepts the beer shoved his way and downs it before Peggy can challenge another moron to test their strength against her.

"There's the Captain now, darlings," Peggy bats her big brown eyes up at Steve and beckons for him to take a seat by her. "Come for a drink?"

Steve shakes his head but finds that it doesn't do a damn thing to deflect the bombardment of drinks to their table. Peggy says they're on Phillips. But then a minute later she says they're on Senator Brandt. Then a few minutes after that when the drinks keep coming she says they're on Churchill himself. For the duration of the night she throws out the name of every white man in a position of power to explain the amount of alcohol dropped between them. He laughs hardest when she whispers to him that _really, it's all on Hitler. Started a fucking tab under his name. Take that, Nazi bastard_.

Bucky is throwing the drinks back like he's got nothing to lose and only thirty minutes to prove it. Peggy is trying to keep pace with him but holds back after the seventh drink because she's too smart to get as stupid drunk as Bucky is getting. He keeps going back and forth between leaning on her and leaning on Gabe who is on his other side. All the Commandos but Dum Dum are seated at the table. He's evidently too busy chatting up a redhead at the bar as Bucky obnoxiously points out. After thirty minutes of too-loud story telling and mingling laughter Peggy gets up to tear Howard off a young soldier in the corner of the room. His black hair is mussed and lipstick stains his collar from the all the different women he's managed to snag tonight. Steve is enthralled and impressed at Howard's public display. He didn't know he looked at men that way but he feels not all that surprised by it. And here he is, whining up a fit as Peggy drags him to the bar on the other side of the room. With the empty space, Bucky slides over to take Peggy's seat and starts pestering Steve. He was knocking their feet against each other earlier, trying to even scoot close enough to get a knee wedged in between his thighs but the table proved to be too wide.

“Wanna dance, honey?” Bucky whispers in Steve's ear. He licks it for good measure making Steve jump and go red. It sets Bucky’s soul alight to see that deep blush so he does it again not worrying that they're in a bar full of people. Steve pulls away and studies Bucky’s blown black eyes.

“Bucky,” He whispers. He glances around him trying to see if anyone is watching or caring about Bucky gnawing at his ear. Dum Dum came over after Peggy got up and now has his head down on the table, snoring loudly. Morita and Gabe are dancing with a couple nurses and Dernier and Falsworth are trying to pick Howard up off the ground where he clings to Peggy's shoes. They're sitting alone. “We’re in public right now. You gotta keep yourself together.” Bucky just shakes his head and leans closer, rubbing his forehead on Steve’s jaw.

“Didn't you see Howard? That deviant fuck. Get's away with murder," Bucky's slur makes the statement nearly unintelligible. "Dance?” Bucky lifts his head back up to ask. “With,” He hiccups. “Me?” Steve tries to extract himself from Bucky’s octopus arms but he’s clinging with all the drunken strength he has in him. It's surprisingly _a lot of fucking strength_. Steve shakes his head hard. Bucky takes to pouting as he runs a hand up Steve's thigh under the table. Steve is trying desperately to push him away but the hand climbs higher and in one grab Steve is fighting for air. Bucky doesn't even notice. He just keeps asking for Steve to dance with him.

“Dance with the man, Rogers.” Peggy appears out of nowhere all smiles and arms full of drinks. _Jesus, more?_ Steve cranes his neck to see how the situation with Howard went and sees him still on the floor but now clinging to Dernier's boots. Steve can actually hear the mutter of French curses streaming out of his mouth. Falsworth, like a good brother in arms, stands by and laughs his ass off at him.

“Peggy, c’mon. Why don’t you dance with him?” He doesn’t expect her to take him up on the offer but she slides around him and pulls Bucky off Steve. He is bubbling with laughter as she steers him away to the crowd of dancing blurs. She takes the lead and he kisses her cheek so hard her head is jerked back. She laughs heartily and returns the kiss with equal strength. She leaves lipstick on his skin. Her red nails dig into his waist and he shifts closer. They’re whispering to each other something even Steve’s enhanced hearing can't pickup over the trumpets. Bucky clings to her shoulders with an intoxicated desperation that makes Steve think of late nights in Brooklyn with the radio on low. His head eventually finds a home in the crook of her neck and she smiles with a kind of warmth he's never seen on her. Carefree happiness, he decides, looks exceptionally swell on her. At the end of the song Bucky pulls back and looks over at Steve, smiling wide with sweat and dimples. He looks back at Peg and cups her face, kissing her sweetly on the lips getting some of that red smeared on his mouth. She comes out of it laughing so hard her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches. Steve's heart skips a beat. She pushes her lips back on him, dipping him like a dame as she does it.

Later when the dancing is over Bucky drags Steve away from the bumbling bodies and smoke filled room out the back door of the bar. He pins him against the stone wall and giggles to himself.

"What's so funny, honey?" Steve laughs. Bucky bites his lip and bobs his head. Steve would be worried at how inebriated Bucky is if he didn't look so happy. It's felt like years since they've been here. Feeling life around them rather than death.

"I see you," Bucky shakes his head. He's smiling and swaying into Steve. "I see you, motherfucker."

"See me what?"

"Keep looking at my lips. You see her lipstick? You like it? Like me like this," Bucky leans in close, ghosting his lips over Steve's. "Don't you, boy?"

"Don't call me boy, Buck."

"Do somethin' 'bout it," So Steve does. He bites at Bucky's taunting mouth until they're both tasting blood. Bucky is getting hard against him, gasping as the red around his lips turns deeper. "Can we go back with her? Do more of this. She has more."

"Who? More of what?" Steve's brain is on a loop of the way Bucky looks right now, the light airy sounds he doesn't know he's making.

"Pegs. She'd love it. You'd love it. I know you got a hard on for her pretty brown eyes. Who the fuck doesn't? She'll take us back. And we can-" Bucky cuts off when Steve drops to his knees in front of him. The thought of the three of them together is driving Steve wild already and he's torn between taking Bucky here and now with the image of it or hearing Bucky out and going back inside to leave with her. He doesn't think about the fact that of course this means she knows about him and Bucky, or is at least hopeful. Steve undoes Bucky's buckle, unzips him. He thinks of their kiss on the dance floor. Her cheeks rosy and gleaming under the light. Bucky's mouth wet and shining. Their laughter mixing with the din. Steve grabs Bucky's hip roughly, drinks in Bucky's stuttering moans as he gets a mouthful of him. When Bucky's familiar sweet talk starts coming shorter and breathier Steve pulls back.

"Stevie, please." Bucky begs.

"Say her name." Steve demands. Bucky looks down at him wide eyed but does exactly as he says. His voice is broken and ragged, dripping with barely contained bliss. He's trying to be quiet, Steve will credit him that, as Steve resumes with fast aggression. Bucky comes with Peggy's name on his lips. Steve swallows every last drop before rising to his feet again, catching an unsteady Bucky against him. They catch their breath. They grin at one another. They laugh like little boys. Then, "She'd knock you out if she knew what you did."

"Me? You were the one screaming her name, sweetheart." Steve brushes sweaty hair back from Bucky's forehead. It's an adventurous thought Bucky had, being with Peggy. And the more the idea settles in Steve's mind he realizes it's not Bucky's thought at all. There is no way he would ever suggest something like that without the okay of her first. It wouldn't even cross his mind. Steve huffs an impressed laugh. _She really is something._ But how could he bear to share this? The intimacy of their touches and sounds?

"Was not screaming it, you asshole." Bucky shoves at Steve halfheartedly. Steve kisses Bucky one more time. They get back inside making sure no traces of lipstick, or blood, are left on their faces. Bucky races over to where Peggy has Stark by the ear clearly berating him for some kind of public indecency or another. Steve walks over to Morita and Gabe who are seated at the table trying to see who can sing the loudest, or the worst, Steve can't really tell. Dernier comes over when he sees Steve and starts telling him what Howard has been up to. Falsworth appears to correct him when the story gets embellished. Apparently Howard had thrown up on the piano, and by default the poor pianist, then drank a bottle of something no one legally gave him then climbed on top of the bar to do a strip tease. Peggy stopped him before the pants came off but only because he nearly fell off three times before he reached for his buckle. She figured a half dressed Howard was better alive than dead, at least where the war effort was concerned.

Howard is deposited in a seat at the table as Peggy and Bucky drag him over. Peggy looks irritated but amused and Bucky is laughing. He runs a hand through his outrageously messy hair as he sits down. Sometime since they came back inside Bucky got his hands on another drink and is downing it as he sits next to Steve.

“You ever gonna cut that mess, Sergeant?” Peggy asks as she tugs at his wild strands.

“Stevie won’t fucking let me. Thinks it's sexy.” Bucky laughs around the shot he takes. Steve, first of all, sputters and tries to retort with something to downplay the...blatant romance of Bucky's statement. Then he wonders with amazement at the fact Bucky has two shots before him that he never saw appear. He really had a goddamn talent for pulling liquor out of his hat. But Steve's fight gets lost in the conversation that starts up between every single Commando, three nurses who huddle around the packed table, Peggy, and a barely lucid Stark. Stark advocates for him to keep growing it. _I wanna see that mane in a goddamn braid, Barnes._ Bucky is on fire from the attention and kicks Steve under the table to make sure he’s hearing all this. Finally a gal with a tiny pair of scissors in her handbag wins out and Bucky’s hair is dropping onto the barroom floor without so much as a second thought. Not that he expects Bucky to do anything but laugh and wheeze over another drink. Steve wouldn't be surprised if at this point Bucky wasn't even aware of anything going on around him. Steve, feeling drunk on the thrill of the night and the joy around him laughs and covers his arms over his eyes, wailing a dramatic "no!" as the girl does away with the brown locks. That makes Bucky cackle for a few minutes straight while his beautiful head of hair is mutilated. When she's done it looks impressively perfect and exactly as Bucky usually has it cut. Steve plants a kiss on her cheek for getting it right.

After that people start peeling out leaving the ruckus of the bar to die down. Soon its only Steve, Bucky, and Peggy left in their circle. Steve is feeling jittery and hot, because unlike Bucky he didn't get off in the dark of an alley in London tonight. Bucky looks like he's caught in a dream world, staring between the two of them. Steve can see his lips moving to the words of a song playing around them. Peggy is staring up at Steve through her lashes, looking like she's waiting for him to speak. He takes too long, like always, so she goes first.

"Let's go. Us three." She grabs his hand and stands. Bucky follows, not taking his eyes off her. Steve halts them and looks Bucky in the eye. He has no doubt he knows what Peggy wants but when it comes to Bucky he needs to clarify. Going off of the events of the night he's been too drunk to make this decision properly but Steve still wants to know what he wants in his haze. The last thing he needs is single-handedly walking Bucky into a night he'll be sure to regret. There's a reason Bucky stopped sleeping with women, and while Steve is a big part of that, he's not the _whole_ part. And if there is any room in the night for Bucky to do something he'll regret Steve believes it his job to stop it if he can. Steve has his own reservations but if he sees how much Bucky really wants it then he'll do it. Who is he to complain, really, when it's Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter trying to take him to bed? Bucky was right earlier when he accused him of having a, how Bucky put it, a hard on for her. He wouldn't say it like that but yeah, he guesses he's got a pretty undeniable thing for her. But again, like Bucky said, who doesn't?

"Buck? You alright with that? Really?" He slips an arm around his waist, mostly to keep him upright. There's hardly a soul left in the bar to worry about looking too suspicious so Steve tightens his grip. It's been a half hour since Bucky finally called it quits on drinking so he doesn't need the help. He's looking more clear eyed by the second. It's actually startling how quickly he's sobering up. Bucky nods slow, grabs Steve's hand. They make their way through the streets before they happen upon Peggy's living quarters. She guides them inside and brings them to her bedroom without pause or preamble. The night is so silent she seems unbothered with sneaking them around as to keep from accidentally tarnishing her reputation. Bucky toes his boots off and endearingly bends down to undo Steve's remembering his frustration from earlier. Steve blushes as Peggy watches with a barely contained smirk. It's like a dream, an intense wild dream, everything that happens next. It's sweeter than Steve expected with Peggy's braveness and Bucky's malleability under her hands. Steve is overflowing with love and admiration for his two favorite people in the world. In the whole goddamn universe.

Peggy and Bucky. They're it.

And the way they both look at him shows him they know it.

When they all finish and relinquish their bodies to exhaustion Peggy curls up around someone's discarded shirt. She's snoring softly before him and Bucky can even shift their bodies. They lay, the three of them atop the covers, one asleep and the other two still catching their breath.

“Do you wanna stay up to watch the sunrise?” Bucky whispers. He's smiling at the ceiling, absently running a hand up and down Steve's arm. Steve can feel his peace, it rolls off him and laps at the shore of Steve's skin. It's a rare feeling, one he hasn't had the pleasure of dancing with for absolute ages. _Bucky Barnes_ and _peace_ have never quite been synonymous. But Steve is not nearly naive enough to believe that it isn't _mostly_ his fault. It takes a great deal of restraint to keep himself from saying aloud, _well, hello again, darling_ to the buzz of Bucky's energy.

“If we can get sleep we should.” Steve rubs their noses together. Peggy had situated herself behind Steve, snuggling up against his burning skin.

Bucky can smell the liquor on Steve’s breath but he knows he isn’t feeling it. Bucky isn’t anymore either. And he knows he should be tired, knocked the fuck out just like Pegs is, but Bucky is still feeling his high. He nods in response to Steve as a rogue hand runs it's way all over the bare skin it can reach. Steve closes his eyes to Bucky’s ghosting touch. It drifts lower and lower until Steve is gasping and grabbing around him, moaning for Bucky to keep going but quietly as not to wake Peggy. _Don’t stop, please, don’t stop._ He doesn’t, not even when he comes over Bucky’s hand and Steve’s stomach. It's the fourth time tonight. Steve immediately reaches for Bucky but instead of returning the favor in the darkness of the room he effortlessly pins Bucky flat into the cotton sheets. With a knee he nudges Bucky’s legs apart. Bucky opens them as wide as he can and pulls Steve roughly over him. He's still hard, God bless that serum. Steve’s mouth is all over Bucky, hungry and hot. His tongue pushes inside Bucky's mouth as his fingers trace a pattern around Bucky’s hard cock then dip down to his hole. He teases at his entrance before bringing the fingers back up to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky doesn’t need to be asked twice for his mouth to drop open to wet Steve’s fingers. When that task is done the fingers return to their place and one eases inside Bucky. He let's out a ridiculous moan, loud and ragged. After months of silent gasps and quick fucks in enemy territory Bucky is being as loud as he fucking wants to even if that means waking up the sleeping woman next to them. In the back of his dumbass brain he thinks it might be wrong, questionable to be doing this while Peggy is unaware.

Steve's eyes widen momentarily, worried as ever that a Nazi could come barreling around a tree and shoot them both dead but then he remembers he's in a room in London. And Peggy's here. Maybe that should have been his first thought. Either way, he is safe and holding under him the prettiest boy in the world. He wants to say that as he sticks another finger in so he does.

"You're so pretty, honey. You're so goddamn pretty. Look at you." Steve bites Bucky's jaw and scissors his fingers inside him. Bucky whimpers and begs for a third finger. Steve is slow to comply because his own body trembles at the sight of Bucky writhing underneath him. It's been a long time since they took their time, he makes sure to drag it out. Bucky only snaps about it once before giving in to the teasing, dick hard and red against his stomach.

"We should," Bucky pants. "We should tell her. This isn't nice." Steve rests his forehead against Bucky's shoulder and nods. Bucky flails an arm until it's knocking against Peggy's back. She shifts and lets out a noise of disgruntlement.

"What now?" She grumbles into the shirt.

"Peggy, we're gonna, um Peggy?" Steve stumbles through his words. She rolls over and looks at them through tired slits.

"Oh carry on you dogs. Don't mind me." She all but laughs at them before rolling back into her curled up position. So they carry on until they find themselves satisfied once again. Steve is snoring into Bucky’s chest in record time but Bucky stays awake. He runs his hands through Steve’s hair, sweaty and dirty. He never rinsed it when they took their bath together.

The sun crawls slow through the single window to Bucky’s left. It starts out blue then turns lilac. He thinks of the veins on Steve’s body that match that color beautifully. So many days and nights in their youth that he spent memorizing the exact shade of the topography of Steve's body. In all it's difference, it really hadn't changed all that much, if Bucky thinks about it. His veins are still the color of the sky spilling in.

Bucky waits for the light to turn hot and red before he lets his eyes slip closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the Love - Florence + The Machine


	20. When Will I See You Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a time to let go.  
> Goodbye and so long.  
> All the best along the way.  
> Couldn't I keep you another day?
> 
> It's a time to let go.  
> Goodbye and so long.  
> All the best along the way.  
> Couldn't I keep you another day?

1945

“When I was five he picked me up from the ground after another bully laid us both out. He had this crease in his eyebrows. Same one as always. Then he put his lips right on mine. He was my first kiss. He was my last kiss. Fuck, Pegs,” Steve covers his face with his hands hiding the open sob that escapes from him. It's dark and cold in the blown out bar and the breeze lightly tosses around Peggy’s loosening curls. Her heart breaks as she watches Steve fold in on himself. Tears are threatening to spill over her own eyes as she imagines his hurt, _sees_ it before her. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't come to love Bucky almost as deeply as Steve had. She hears his laugh in the hollow caverns of her mind and has to bite her lip to keep from breaking.

There’s no reasoning with Steve. There's no support she can offer. His entire world fell off that train. Bucky is dead and she can’t do a damn thing about it. She can’t even fathom what it must have been like.

To see him fall, hear him scream, watch him disappear forever. She sits here now and feels a distant sliver of the aching miss Steve feels. And after she brings Steve back to a safe, warm bed and leaves him to grieve in peace she’ll cry over the loss of Barnes. 

In the back of her mind she feels this unsettling fear like she’s losing Steve too. After this how can the same man come back? And moreover, it's no secret that Steve is reckless with his life. How can Peggy be sure he won’t completely throw it away after losing the primary thing he was living for? She knows Steve wants to win this war, he wants to fight, and he wants to get the job done. But a part of her thinks he’ll find a way to do it fatally and with heroic finality. 

Steve is trembling and weeping before her, she reaches out and holds him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Will I See You Again - Lord Huron
> 
> ....yeah:'(


	21. I See Your Face In Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well I should have seen this coming  
> Don't know why I'm surprised  
> 'Cause every vessel on its way down  
> Takes with it the captain's life
> 
> Though I'm blind, my dear, I see  
> The parade goes on without me  
> My body aches, my mind it weeps  
> For you, for you
> 
> And now your honey jars are frozen  
> And in the window, your books have browned  
> And there's too much room inside our bed  
> I think I'll join you in the ground

Ice and Snow. Yes. It's better than Brooklyn without him. Sunsets on the fire escape without him. Sunrises in an Army bedroll without him. Eating spam in the afternoon without him.

Crashing to his death. Yes. It's better than painting classes without him. Nursing a three-legged stray cat without him. Singing french love songs without him.

Anything but living is better than anything continuing on without James Buchanan Barnes. 

He talks to Peggy. He listens to her wobbly voice. He pities her, of course. He hates to leave her. He loves her but the ache to follow Bucky is anchored too deep. 

So he does. In what feels like seconds he hits the ground with such a force he gasps a relieved laugh. It's cold, it's seeping in around him. It's fucking painful and he can't help the tears that begin to stream down his face. It's a bad thing that's happening to him but fuck, losing Bucky had somehow felt worse.

Steve chokes on arctic water as an unscathed Bucky in his favorite blue button down flits past his vision. He's laughing, reaching out. Biting his lip and leaning his forehead against Steve's.

There's an _I love you_ said. And then there is black silence.

* * *

He pulls the white sheet tighter to his chin, reaping all the warmth he can before the sun gets too high. He can hear the low tune being hummed from the kitchen. He registers the far off clank of the spoon against the ceramic of Bucky's favorite mug. He's desperate for more sleep but he can't focus on dreaming when he hears the light footfall of his lover on the other side of the door. A quiet pause and then Bucky knocks once before slipping into the bedroom. Steve listens to him creep silently around before setting his mug down on the dresser. Bucky eases himself down on the bed. Fingers reach out and thread through Steve's hair. He can't help but sigh.

"Morning, beautiful boy." Bucky whispers as he presses the softest of kisses to Steve's head. Steve wrinkles his nose.

"Don't call me boy." Steve jerks his head away from Bucky's touch and opens his eyes. Bucky is smiling down at him completely indifferent to Steve's grumpiness.

"Maybe I should call you sewer monster then," Bucky pinches his nose. "Because your breath is horrendous." Steve throws back the sheet and laughs as he sits up and makes a grab for Bucky. He gets him in a headlock before Bucky can blink.

"What was that?" Steve asks through his growing laughter. Bucky is laughing too, clutching at Steve's skinny arm around his neck.

"You heard me, punk." Bucky licks at Steve's arm which gets him to pull back abruptly. Bucky throws his head back cackling at the look on Steve's face. It's all play, sweet and dramatic as it is. Steve remembers that it's a Sunday and pulls Bucky back to him, this time so that he can lay against him. They fall back against the bed, Steve now the one combing fingers through hair. It's quiet for a long while. Both of them letting the morning settle around them in layers of warmth. Its so rare, these days, to have moments like these. The war, as it gets worse day by day, seems to be driving a tense wedge between them.

"I finished that book you gave me for my birthday," Comes Bucky's red velvet voice. Steve waits for him to continue because he knows that he will. Bucky always regales the stories he's read to Steve, sometimes adding parts Steve isn't so sure are in the original story. But he'd take Bucky's version of _anything_ over some author's bland work. "He died in the end. The man. He loved this girl so bad but she was married. He did everything he could to win her over. Everything. He built his whole life around her. But he couldn't have her in the end and her husband found out. Killed him."

"Kinda shitty."

"No," Bucky nuzzles against Steve. "No it ain't. It was beautiful. I do the same thing, I think. For you. I build my whole world around you. Always have. Shit, probably always will," Bucky lifts his head up to look into Steve's eyes. Sometimes Bucky got like this, so serious and steady. He'd forget that Steve loved him back just as much and he'd have to spell out just how gone on him he was. One of Bucky's hands is resting on Steve's chest, a finger tracing distractedly against the pale expanse. He inhales a shaky breath like he's bracing himself then parts his lips to speak. "I'd die for your love too, I'd die for you."

"Buck-"

"No, listen," Bucky sets his stare on Steve, pinning him down. "Maybe I'm like my mama. I love a little too hard. Maybe it's gonna kill me someday like it did her. But I don't care if it's you, Steve. I _want_ it to be you. I'd want it to be you in any version of our lives. Even if we weren't together like in the book. I'd die for you without fucking blinking. And this war...if I go-" _I'm going for you, dying there for you_ , Steve hears Bucky's unfinished thought. He watches as Bucky gulps that part down clearly not trusting himself to go on. It's too much and they both know it. Steve doesn't move a muscle, he's rigid and tight feeling the anxiety pulse through him. The truth is he'd do the same for Bucky, he really would, but this life they've created for themselves feels like fading smoke. The war is looming and if Steve has his way he's going and if Bucky is the man Steve thinks he is then he's going too. And if by some miracle they came back in one piece to each other they won't come back to the same place. Maybe not even to the same people.

But Steve knows without a doubt that Bucky is right. As long as he's breathing he'll do any goddamn thing in the world for Steve and his love. It's scary, Steve realizes, how far he'd go for him. For them.

"I'd do it all for you too, you know. I'd pull the sun out of the sky. I'd burn Brooklyn to the ground." Steve finally whispers back. He let's a tiny smile grace his lips. That placates Bucky but does nothing to dry the fat tears lurking in his stormy eyes.

"I really love you." Bucky surges forward and kisses Steve.

"I love you too, _beautiful boy_." Steve bites Bucky's lip. Bucky rolls his eyes looking irritably amused at the stolen endearment.

"Fuck you, I thought it was a good one. You're so picky, Jesus." Bucky tries to pull back a little but Steve presses into his space, murmuring an 'mmhmm' as he traps him in another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honey Jars - Bryan John Appleby


	22. I'm Sorry If I Smothered You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should go now quietly  
> For my bones have found a place  
> To lie down and sleep  
> Where all my layers can become reeds  
> All my limbs can become trees  
> All my children can become me  
> What a mess I leave  
> To follow

1948

Becca Barnes kicks off her shoes in the doorway revealing the blisters marring her skin. She can't help but wince as the cool autumn air hits the bloody sores. She left her windows open to air out and cool down the apartment before she left to drop off the wash for Mrs. Leonard. It is late September and the weather has been up and down for the past two weeks making it difficult to find a livable temperature to sleep in through the hot then cold nights. She nudges the offending footwear out of her way and makes for her bedroom. Her stomach is looking more and more swollen by the day and her husband has been a shitty presence in the way of comfort. But he works hard, Becca knows, so she let’s him be him. She doesn’t work anymore but she makes damn sure her sisters are still looked after by the means of her husband's earnings. He never says a word when he sees the spending being leveled out their way. They’re getting older, just like Becca is, and they can get by without her. It’s just not in the Barnes family tradition to let that happen. Ruth and Georgie still live together in the apartment they grew up in. Becca meant to take them along when she got married but her husband decided it wasn't for the best. Now, Ruth and G have been fixing to find a smaller, cheaper place somewhere else. Ruth has mentioned they've even been looking for places outside the city. It's been too hard to be in Brooklyn, to be in New York, when their parents are long gone and their older brother has been murdered. That's how Georgie says it every time. _Murdered_. Becca tastes her own bitterness just thinking of the way Georgie looks when Bucky comes up. Ruth is different, she goes far off and silent. Becca thinks Ruth might not believe he's gone. But Georgie has been in a constant rage since the day they found out. Even more so when they were told there was no body to bring home. 

Becca feels sweat drip down her body so she undoes the top two buttons of her dress as she sits back on her mattress. The chill in the air does nothing to cool her down so she waves a hand in her face in a futile attempt to fan herself. She takes a deep breath, rubbing her stomach. It's her first baby but she isn’t afraid. She has no mother to guide her but she tells herself she doesn't need her. She remembers her sisters as infants. The hauling and cooing her and Bucky had to do as their mother juggled a thousand chores and jobs at once. And she sees other mothers in her husband's social circles. She can get by on her memory and ques from her peers. She is not afraid.

She tells her husband that if it's a boy he’ll be named after her brother. He doesn’t disagree but he also doesn’t like it much either. He never met Bucky more than a couple fleeting times and half the time he forgets Becca had a brother. Their first fight over the name ends in her sleeping alone for three nights. The first night her husband never came home. The second night he reappeared around early morning. Becca had ignored his arms curling around her as he crawled into bed murmuring a sorry she pretended not to hear. It wasn't a negotiation is what her husband failed to realize. Bucky would be remembered and this was how Becca was going to do it.

Becca rolls off the bed and opens her closet. After she moved in to her new home she made sure to claim a spot for the box on the single shelf. Bucky wanted her to keep it safe if he couldn’t be there to do it himself. As it is, he hasn’t managed to come back for it. Being dead and all. And Steve, who would have been next in line for the box won’t be sniffing around for it either. Becca bites her lip as she reaches up to bring it down. She walks it over to the bed and sets it down, opening it and eyeing the contents inside. She does this now and again since the day it was given to her in 1936. She'll open it and sift through the contents. She never opened the letters or envelopes or undeveloped rolls of film. She never looked into a past that wasn’t hers and she’d never planned to. She only eyed the things on the surface wondering why Bucky would want this to be protected so bad and so much from Steve.

But now, what does it matter? 

Becca picks up the only piece of paper that she has read. It’s a note written on a single cream card with a swirling design etched in silver along the edges. The jagged words on the front are in Bucky’s handwriting. As she looks at it now she feels herself shiver. The card came in the fall of 1945 with a large dress box. Inside was a pink gown that Bucky wrote he and Steve had picked out from a blown out place in France. The scrawl went on saying that the gown was a _late wedding present that would have arrived sooner but the Army is a bunch of assholes and the United States government doesn’t understand shit about doing right by little sisters when they get hitched. It don't happen every day!_. He signed his initials at the bottom and so did Steve. Steve's three letters looked hurried and messy. The ink was thinner and spotty and Becca knew that meant they hadn't used the same pen, didn't even sign it on the same day and Becca often wondered if Steve had signed the card after Bucky's death and that's why it looked so shitty. On the back was an additional note in swooping letters that explained the delivery was overseen by an Agent M. Carter, a close friend, it read, of both the Captain and the Sergeant. There was no return address, no further information. Only the Agent's short words and Bucky's lively ones.

The day it had arrived Becca was alone, her husband still at work and her sisters withholding their visits in favor of avoiding Becca at all costs. They didn't go see her for weeks after the funeral regardless of the fact that they lived minutes away from each other. She understood why. She had always looked the most like Bucky and on top of that talked nothing like him. Of course they didn't want to be around her when she did nothing but hound them for information on their work, their boyfriends, or if they were making rent alright. They wanted Bucky with his charm and humor and light kisses on foreheads. Not her.

She had a kerosene lamp lit in the corner of the room. It was evening and whoever had brought the box ran off before Becca could answer the quick knock. She didn’t cry as she read the last words her brother would say to her. She didn’t cry as she set the card aside and took the dress out of the box, holding it against her body. It really was beautiful and she whispered a quiet thank you to the empty room. After sitting on the floor with it for hours in the flickering lamp light she put it away at the back of her closet, only wearing it once for the second anniversary of her marriage that spring.

Now, as she sits on her bed and sets the card aside she tucks the stinging memory away. The dress is still in the back of her closet collecting dust with each passing day. She knows Bucky would have loved to see her in it. He would have pulled her into a dance in their living room and twirled her around again and again. That alone makes her certain that she will never wear it again. It was a miracle she got through the evening wearing it the one time.

She rifles through the box and pulls out a single letter. Her thumb fingers the edge of the sealed flap and is about to rip it open when she hears a knock at her front door. She shoves the letter and her card back in and puts the box away. She isn't all that upset to be interrupted, she shouldn't be going through Sarah's things. It isn't her right even if it has been twelve years. No amount of time will be enough to destroy Sarah's privacy. She should just burn her things. They weren't meant to be in the world anyway if Sarah and Bucky had wanted to keep them away from Steve.

Becca opens the door to find Ruth clutching a canvas bag and a plant. Well, yellow flowers in a clay pot.

"Well here she is," Ruth beams a rare smile at her and pushes into the apartment. "My, you are big, dear sister. _You_ should be the one moving out of the city for someplace bigger. Can you even fit through the doorway?"

"Don't be cruel to me. I suffer enough," Becca wipes sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and sits at the table where Ruth has set the flowers and bag down. "What is all this?"

"I brought a parting gift and some of your things we found when we were packing up the last of it. There was an old journal you only wrote halfway through that G kept. Figured you wouldn't mind since it was from high school and you didn't write anything good in there anyway. G is using it for storytelling or something. Think she wants to write now."

"So you found a place? I didn't know that."

"Becks, I told you last week we found somewhere. Well sort of. Remember I told you we've been saving for a car? We're getting one from Harry's garage then taking it to find a new place. I wanted to talk to you about that part. Where we're going. I wanted G to be here but she's a chicken and at work so," Ruth shrugs and runs a hand through her hair, tying it up and away from her face. "Christ, it's hot in here."

"Where are you going? Aren't you looking upstate?" 

"Well we were thinking that, I guess, at the beginning but we met this great gal a while back who was from California. She came to New York to take care of her aunt when she got sick. She was telling us about where she was from and all and well you know me and G. We'll do anything." Ruth laughs. Becca feels a little sick.

"You're going across the country? You're driving across the country? And you're just gonna cross your fingers and hope to find a place? Ruth that's idiocy. What about the apartment? What about your things? I don't understand. Leaving Brooklyn is one thing but your home is New York." Becca is feeling winded and worked up. This isn't how it's supposed to be. How is she going to take care of her sisters if they're on the other side of the country? She's losing them and now she'll be alone. No family left.

" _Your_ home. Not mine. This place hasn't been home since 1938. Bucky knew it-"

"Bucky _loved_ Brooklyn." Becca interjects. If there is one person in this family she knew it was Bucky. And she knows he loved Brooklyn. It was always home to him even when their parents died. He loved the fruit stand and he loved the Dodgers and he loved the bridge and he loved the cracked sidewalks and stray dogs. Bucky did love Brooklyn, just like Becca did. It was Ruth who didn't love it.

"He loved Steve, not Brooklyn." Ruth all but laughs. Becca fixes her with a wide eyed stare. Of course Becca knew, she'd known since they were kids but she never thought her little sisters caught on. Not that it wasn't sickly obvious at times.

"What did you just say?" Becca whispers across the table. It didn't matter that they were both dead it still felt like the biggest secret in the world and actually, it did matter and it was the biggest secret in the world. Her brother and Steve didn't turn out to be some foot soldiers who got lost in the gunfire. They were national heroes now and this secret mattered.

"You heard me, Rebecca. You think I'm dumb? And anyway we have a place lined up. We're going to Sacramento. And we sold our big stuff. The couch, the chairs, that old green lamp. The apartment has been practically empty for weeks you just wouldn't know that because you're too afraid to come see us." Ruth shrugs a shoulder as she fingers a few yellow petals on the flowers between them.

"I'm not afraid." Becca bites.

"You act like you're gonna see ghosts if you get within ten feet of our front door." Ruth scoffs. Becca bites her tongue. She doesn't want to admit Ruth is right but maybe she is. She hasn't been able to go back much to her home since she got married. It got worse when Bucky died. Now it's simply impossible. The time spent away keeps her from remembering that they're gone. If she doesn't see the emptiness it isn't real.

"So where's Sacramento?" Becca finally offers after a lengthy silence. Ruth tells her roughly where it is but Becca is no expert on what California looks like. She listens to Ruth tell her all about the car, the money they've been saving, and how excited they both are. 

"When are you leaving?" Becca asks around the lump in her throat.

"Monday."

"So soon?" Becca feels her heart tighten as Ruth nods solemnly. At least she has the decency to look a tad ashamed at the proximity of their departure. The conversation drops off soon after and Ruth kisses her sister on the forehead before slipping out the door. Becca remains at the table until her husband comes home an hour later. He looks at the plant and tells her it's beautiful but she better remember to water it because he certainly won't. She sighs and places it under the faucet before setting it on a small table by the window.

On that following Monday Becca sees her two sisters off, hugging them and kissing them goodbye. Ruth is buzzing around the edges. She smokes a cigarette as she loads the last bag into the car. Georgie looks hard at Becca as they say their goodbyes.

"I'm sorry we won't be here for it." Georgie gives Becca a sad smile as she places her hands on Becca's stomach. Becca shakes her head in return, biting back her anger. She tells herself she's being selfish. She can't expect her sisters to stick around for Becca's sake.

"I'll send you both photographs." She kisses her cheek one more time before they get in their car and roll away. Standing on the curb Becca watches them round the corner and head for California. Her feet hurt the longer she stands watching the empty street and she finds herself shifting back and forth to alleviate the ache. She would go home but her heart feels so heavy. And if she leaves then the loneliness will truly set in. They never told her when they would all be together again. She doesn't know the next time she'll see the only family she has left in the world again.

They send postcards the first few months that she keeps in the box with Sarah's things. The first handful are from states they stop in along the way. Once they arrive in Sacramento they're local ones with short notes about new jobs or new friends or exciting California things they swore she had to see. They write her letters through the years too that she saves alongside the postcards. They mount up and soon enough Sarah's old box is so full Becca has to buy a wooden trunk to put it in and continue her collection of things in the rest of the spare space.

For a few holidays they come to visit as her children grow. Becca has another daughter in 1952 but no son. Her sisters never stay and they never talk of coming back to Brooklyn. Becca thought maybe, just maybe, they would come back some day.

Ruth gets married in 1956 and moves out of her and Georgie's tiny house. Becca flies out with her two daughters to be there for the ceremony. Ruth only has one boy and refuses to name him after Bucky at Becca's urging. She has no more children and in 1965 her husband dies. Three years later she remarries a quiet man who brings with him two more children. Ruth remains in California nearly the rest of her life with her husband and children, working off and on for local businesses. Ruth's son, hearing stories of his mother's and aunt's childhoods, moves to New York City when he graduates college. He often visits Becca.

Georgie keeps her small house in Sacramento and writes novels that get published but don't get all that popular. She remains undiscovered and alone until the sixties when it's let out her relation to war hero James Buchanan Barnes. Then her books are scooped up and analyzed for the next few decades. She moves out of her small house and buys a place in northern California where she continues to write story after story. She never marries but has turbulent relationships with so many people Becca can hardly keep track. She meets a handful of them at holidays but none of them are particularly extraordinary. In 1978 Georgie publishes a collection of short stories. One of them is about a forbidden love story set during a depression and a war. Its vague, angry, and lovely and if she wasn't a Barnes no one would think one thing about the tale. But her relations suffocate her and for years her career and credibility is criticized while historians rip her fiction apart to hunt down the truth of James Barnes's life. Nothing is found or proved above national speculation and Georgie retreats into anonymity. Becca buys all of her work and reads it ten times over. When she reads the love story that damned Georgie's career she cries, perhaps for the first time in years.

Becca's two daughters and Ruth's son grow up and have children. Though Becca's eldest can't have children. Her youngest has four daughters and one son, who she names James and calls Jamie. Becca cries when she holds him. In 2006 Becca's husband dies from a heart attack. Becca lives alone for fours years until Ruth's husband dies and she moves in with Becca. In 2011 Ruth, a lifelong smoker, dies of cancer leaving Becca to age in isolation in Brooklyn. Her eldest daughter comes to visit but she lives in Buffalo working for a law firm with her husband, so it isn't all that often. Her youngest moved to North Carolina years ago and visits every few years. Becca is too old to travel now so the contact with her family seems to be less and less every day.

Georgie comes to town for Ruth's funeral and stays with Becca at the cemetery. They are both old now, grey and aching but Georgie doesn't need help walking just yet. She can get around and helps Becca do it as they leave their family plot. She stays with Becca for two months when she tells her it might be time to consider something like senior living. Even if Georgie did stay and keep her company she couldn't take care of Becca forever. They move her into an overpriced place just outside the city and Georgie sells her house in California to come live in Becca's apartment in Brooklyn.

Later that year Georgie is sitting in Becca's room at the senior place and they're both falling asleep to the sound of the evening news when something catches Becca's ear. She thinks it's a dream at first or a hallucination. She might as well be seeing Bucky strolling through the door. It had been decades since she had made peace with their deaths and now the world is telling her one was a lie. Not only have they found him but he's _alive_. Within a week the flurry around the reappearance of Captain Rogers only grows and Becca babbles over and over with Georgie about whether it's real or not.

He proves it himself when he comes to see her at Christmas. She cries and cries into the warmth of his shoulders. Both her and Georgie hold on tight. They never saw him this way. The last time they saw Steve Rogers was in 1943 when he was as skinny as ever. Becca runs her hands along him and giggles. If it really is all a dream she's happy to be having it. Georgie asks him to live with her in Becca's apartment in Brooklyn. He blushes and tries to turn her down but at her insistence he agrees. It doesn't take long for him to get settled and used to the world. He's smart and Georgie can tell when he's milking the whole _I'm a simple man from another time_ thing. She smacks him on the back of the head every time. He doesn't stay with her long. He can't when the world starts burning. She understands and sends him off with one of Becca's afghans.

He still visits her and Becca regularly, they're in the same city after all. In late 2012 Becca's health begins to fail and in 2013 she is sure she is dying. She tells Georgie to give Steve the trunk, now full of things sent between the sisters, mementos that related to Steve or Bucky, and pictures of all of them. More pressingly; Sarah's things.

Steve sorts through the postcards and letters and Christmas cards and film and photos. He sorts them into what's Becca's, Bucky's, and Sarah's as Becca had instructed he should do. There are even things of Steve's she's collected as she found them after the war, same with Bucky. Some things were in Brooklyn and some were sent to her throughout the years when someone else found them. All war tokens like watches and compasses and belts and handkerchiefs. Sarah's things were older and unlabeled, weathered and curling at the edges. Three rolls of film were hers and he promises the first thing he'll do is developed the film then read the letters. He's afraid of what he'll find written there since Becca told him Sarah gave it Bucky. Steve knows there was a reason for that. Besides, it has only been ten years since he lost his mother. The thought of seeing her penmanship makes his throat constrict. 

But the exploration is stalled by missions and fights and meetings he doesn't want to lead. Worse, in January 2014 Becca passes and Steve goes to the funeral at Georgie's side. He meets Beck's two daughters and her grandchildren and great grandchildren. He draws gravestones for eight weeks afterwards, seeing the names of his family across his eyes every night he lays down to sleep. He keeps in touch with Georgie and reads her works when he's away. It took her two years to tell him she was a published author. He only found out when he got the trunk and found a dozen paperbacks inside. He's read everything she's done cover to cover, squinting at the notes Becca made in margins and rereading what she underlined. He holds on tight to the piece Georgie wrote in 1982 that was so blatantly about Bucky Steve had to stop after every paragraph to catch his breath. When he goes through her short stories the first time he has to reread one in particular at least a dozen times.

Then he throws up and calls Peggy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smother - Daughter
> 
> So sorry this took forever! I was on vacation and the time just wasn't there! I know this chapter is a bit of a chore if you're just here for stevebucky but I really wanted to explore the world going on when Steve and Bucky "died". And sue me, Becca Barnes has a special place in my heart. And please ignore my mistakes I just KNOW they're there under my nose.


	23. Heavy Mitted Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was found what we orphaned  
> Didn't mention it would serve us picked  
> Said your love is known  
> I'm standing up on it  
> Aren't we married?  
> I ain't living in the dark no more  
> It's not a promise, I'm just gonna call it

_Sins in Boyhood and Death_  
Georgiana Barnes  
1978

In the fall the cold comes easy, bouncing off of sterling and gold lips that whisper tender thoughts in the cacophonous dark. There are pale hands, long fingers, short nails, that stretch towards warmed cheeks. Resting gently on the heated skin. It is two lovers that lay on a thin mattress under smoky stars and a moldy ceiling. Laughter rings like far away cathedral bells in the still evening. Swirling around a boy of eighteen as he kisses a boy of nineteen. It’s unsaid in their reticent collision that no one needs to know. They trade love like ghost stories and echoes, in whispers and desperate gasps. 

There is no secrecy, no autonomy, no distance when the wooden door locks. The radio plays love songs that the eldest boy knows by heart. He hums them against the younger boy’s skin, raising goosebumps, sounding sighs. And the light sticks to their skin like orange sweat. Their benthos, their garden at the sea floor, is the walk they take with bare feet through each other’s minds. One boy picks flowers on the ocean floor, the other lays down to watch in the grass, breathing in pacific lavender.

But outside the warm summer water their love is an immortal delphinium pressed between pages, hidden and confined to creaking wooden floors and heights etched in door frames. Outside of their sanctuary the incense they burn fades away in the wind of a city built in brick. The confession box closed off, shoved under the bed, stowed away like the way they hold hands in late afternoons. It becomes routine, ritual, to find an entrancement in the rigid ignorance of the outside world. The art is in _their_ incense now, smoking red around the boys, and the soundless whispers of empty, useless passion. The pad of skin on marble, once sacred and shared between only two, is eradicated by the callous and blackened sole of Sisters and snarling men appointed by a god high above that march the aisle of a burning church. The two boys had forced their chins down, eyes already blackened by reason instilled in them by their mothers.

But repression, though public it hangs between them, doesn’t tear them apart. The kisses stay through the winter, burrowing in the hollows of collarbones and ribs. They keep a fire in their hearth even when the ground shakes beneath them knocking books off their shelves and startling birds away from the windows. In a year of peace a chasm opens up and calls them both into it claiming honor and righteousness. The older boy goes quietly but the younger one trails behind with already bloodied fists raised high. They lose their humanity not in the duties of war but in what we made them out to be because of it.

 _They kill, don’t they?_ The children you tell their story to will ask. And the fathers will nod and the mothers will look away. But the flesh that fell between their fingers is not their shame but the shame of men who commanded them their divine will. The two boys run through mud and blood screaming for an end. _They scream for each other, don’t they?_ The children will ask. And the fathers will turn away growling and the mothers will bite their red painted lips.

 _It doesn’t matter to us_ , the parents will say, but they only mean it when they don’t see it.

And the boys will die for each other while we thread gold through their lies. The older one first, with a love song dripping from his blue lips, because he jumped into the chasm first. The younger one must be watching, must be aching, must be retching like he did when they were children and fear came from a mother’s sickness or a bad dream. Their sea floor flowers wilting, their delphinium torn from the yellowed pages, their incense snuffed out.

And later, the younger one will follow.

 _We all come to die_ , he says to his lover that is no longer there, _I just wish I would have done it sooner. With you, for you._ He licks greying lips, maybe licks blood but all he really tastes is his lover's saddest smile. Is he calling him home from a grave no one has found? Or is the boy simply reckless with loss? No one finds out because no one watches him kill himself for _country_ , you will tell the children. _Freedom, honor, glory, liberation._

But tell them, those two boys who cried under covers in fear of death over love, tell them where they were freed. Tell them where their honor lies. Where they gained glory and liberated themselves from your sin.

Tell them it was worth it. And tell me I can mourn them without aching for retribution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth/Rest - Bon Iver


	24. I Must Stop Time Traveling, You're Always On My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to leave it all behind me  
> But I woke up and there they were beside me  
> And I don't believe it but I guess it's true  
> Some feelings, they can travel too  
> Oh there it is again, sitting on my chest  
> Makes it hard to catch my breath  
> I scramble for the light to change  
> You're always on my mind

2013

He tries to make it feel like home even if he knows it's perfectly impossible. But no matter what he does or tells himself, it isn’t Brooklyn. He lives in Washington D.C. now. Alone and not alone. He's watched, he's monitored, but that is where the company ends. It's a lonely thing but Steve is grateful for it. He doesn't want anybody else around. Tony has tried to rope him into living in his hideous tower, and he stays when he wants to, but no matter the icy reality Steve knows that he needs this. He had to get away. He has to try moving on. This step was enough and it helps that Peggy is close by.

But the emptiness is endless and Steve finds himself longing for a man long dead. Bucky isn’t laying his legs over Steve’s like he used to when they’d sit on the couch and he’d sketch. There’s no deep hum vibrating from Bucky’s throat as he wordlessly tries to remember a few big band notes with his eyes closed. And when Steve can spend no more time wishing back the dead he thinks of who he left behind in Brooklyn. The days he spent with G were no better, he loves G, he loves the Barnes sisters like they're his own sisters. But seeing her as an old woman, seeing both her and Becca as anything other than the headstrong young girls they were is nauseating. And now Becca is only getting worse by the day.

Nothing makes a sound in the small apartment, save for the record player Natasha picked out herself. Steve hardly breathes as he sits in the dark on the cold black and white tile of his bathroom. There’s steam building up all around him from the hot water going to waste down his drain but he can’t be bothered to lift his naked form from the floor. Glenn Miller and His Orchestra play from the other room offering a distorted and eerie ambiance to the lonely night. The melody makes Steve think of a hundred different moments and even hundreds more he never got to have. Dance halls, bars, and foxholes drift lazily through his mind clashing together in warped visions of Nazi's playing trumpets and corpses swinging on the dance floor. It's delirium, he realizes. He hasn't slept in days.

He knows, hell does he know, that it's been years now. He’s had time to adjust. And he’s done his best. But tonight he reverts back to the desperate aching of 1945. His blond hair falling over his forehead with dirt on his high cheekbones; he feels that same despondency that choked him up after Bucky left this earth.

Bucky always said it was Steve that was too good for this place, but fuck, Steve has no goddamn doubt that it was Buck all along. It was those long fingers that used to brush Steve’s bangs back. That grin straight from Hell that got him to do anything. Those long legs that raced alongside Steve since the day he knew how to use them. Every beautiful part of him was supposed to stay in this world. It's beyond Steve, that the world didn’t stop spinning altogether when Bucky fell from that train. But as far as Steve was concerned, it did for him anyway.

After three hours spent on his bathroom floor he finally shifts and remembers where he is. He rolls around to shut the water off then shuffles into his bedroom. It's small, he likes it that way, but the bed is big. Every Avenger gave him a blanket as a house warming gift, _to keep you from falling into another seventy year coma_ , but the only one he uses at night is from Bruce. He keeps Natasha's draped over his couch and Clint's is in the guest bedroom. Tony's lays folded in a basket next to the couch, in case it's extra cold. And Thor's is being used as a makeshift rug in his bedroom. Thor never said what it was made from but Steve is willing to bet there is no animal fur or manmade fabric on this earth that could touch the softness of this blanket.

Steve curls up under the thin quilt Bruce gave him and falls asleep after another three hours of mindless consciousness. When he does finally succumb, the dreams appear clear and terrifying. That, Steve tells himself, is arguably the worst thing the serum does. Dreams are waking moments and memories in dreams are far worse. He relives moments exactly as he had them. No hazy lens or distorted voices.

_It's like something you said to me a thousand years ago. Except I didn't know you then. I was just floating around waiting on you to get here. But I heard your voice say it anyway._

Steve jolts awake breathless and cold. He reaches in the dark for the quilt but it rests crumpled on the floor. It was another memory dream. Another unconsciously self inflicted torture in the form of that easy Bucky Barnes smile and his sweet words. How is he supposed to move on when he keeps seeing him in the night? He lets the three hollow sentences play over and over in his head. They were walking back from the officer’s tent. Shoulders purposely knocking into each other. Steve had waited outside the tent while Bucky gave his statement about Azzano. He still looked wrecked and Steve knew he wasn’t leaving Bucky’s side for anything.

Steve had told him, the night they got back to base after the rescue, that he had missed him. He missed him with a sickening depth that scared him. He was shaking, so was Bucky. He was crying, so was Bucky. But while it was open yet quiet sobs coming from Steve, it was only silent expressionless tears coming from Bucky. He had just been watching Steve, trying to catch his breath and focus on the new man in front of him. Even in their new broadness Steve’s shoulders still hunched the same when he cried. They laid together in a cot somewhere Bucky didn't have the capacity to remember where. It was cold but Steve kept him close. Hours after they first found their spots next to each other Steve was starting to drift off. That's when Bucky said it.

 _It's like something you said to me a thousand years ago. Except I didn't know you then. I was just floating around waiting on you to get here. But I heard your voice say it anyway._

Steve didn’t move and didn’t acknowledge it at first but then he realized the words were real and the body he was gripping too tight in the night was the one that spoke them. 

_What do you mean?_ Steve asked back in a whisper.

_What you said earlier. I’ve heard it before. I used to hear it every night when I laid down in the dirt to sleep. I heard it in Brooklyn. I heard it when we were kids. I heard it when I was fresh into this world, Steve. I think I even heard it when I wasn’t here at all. Whatever I am I’ve been a ghost on this earth listening to your voice like honey in autumn. You told me...you told...Stevie…_

Steve pulled Bucky’s wet face into his neck and held him so tight he thought he might have left bruises. He didn’t want to make Bucky speak through his rising hysteria so he waited and waited until the man’s breaths steadied and his heartbeat returned to something resembling normal.

_What was it I said?_

_You said you’ve been loving me. You’ve been loving me and missing me. You know what’s funny, pal? I’ve been doing the same thing. Except I don’t know where it started. I don’t know how. I just know I can’t live without it. You said it, you know. You said it and I could let them put needles in me. I could let them dragged blades over my skin. You know what else? I liked that part best. It hurt the least but it still made me feel alive. Sometimes if my eyes could stay open I would watch the blood drip down. I watched it. I remember how warm it was. How I liked that too because it was so goddamn cold on that table. I remember in that metallic din of white and grey and red I was trying to hear your voice. You were there. Did you know that? You were standing over me. Skinny and with snot threatening to drip out of that huge nose. Your fingers, like snowfall, ran down the bridge of my nose, over my cheekbones and then to my eyelids. You were whispering. You were sending me off. I missed you too, when I could think, when I could remember. I missed you too. I realized that I’ve really been missing you my whole life. For all these few decades. For my centuries and millennia that write themselves on my skin. I’ve been tearing myself apart with the missing of you. Makes me think of that even though it's me and you til the end there are still a thousand dancehalls we've never danced in. Still a thousand more we never will. Stevie, let's go dancing when we get home. Let’s go dancing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wish That You Were Here - Florence + The Machine
> 
> hmm another florence song?? Three chapters in one day??? I'm getting too powerful


	25. It's Only Been A Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil's on your shoulder  
> The strangers in your head  
> As if you don't remember  
> As if you can forget  
> It's only been a moment  
> It's only been a lifetime  
> But tonight you're a stranger  
> Some silhouette

2014

Natasha walks in as if she lives there, sets down a stack of movies and then plops down on the grey sofa. Her back against the armrest and her legs stretched out in front of her. She quirks an eyebrow over the back of the sofa eyeing the tense shoulders at the counter. Steve stirs something, tea she assesses. She watches for exactly sixty-seven seconds as the muscles in his back work to stir in the honey and sugar.

“I would have taken you for a plain tea kind of guy. What kind of honey do you use? I know this great organic-”

“Why are you here, Nat?” Steve grinds out lowly. She doesn’t flinch at his tone but her face softens to a blank look as she waits a beat before responding. It's been slow going, trying to get under his skin. But Natasha isn't a quitter. She doesn’t claim to know the inner workings of Steve Rogers but she’d hate herself for not trying to figure it out. She was the world’s greatest spy after all. How complex could one man possibly be? She fought with him in New York and now she fights alongside him with Shield. But Steve is a hard man to get to know and she’s deduced that it's almost as if the last thing he wants is a friend. In those first few months working together she thought maybe he’d just up and kill himself. But these days he seems better off, like he is starting to find a bit of purpose again. 

She, better than anyone, knows that in her own way.

“It’s snowing so bad out there. Wanted some warm company. I thought since we have a couples days of respite we could finally get working on knocking some movies off your list.”

“I already watched all the ones you gave me.” His back is still turned away but he’s done stirring. His body stock still. She knows about the funeral he got back from two nights ago. She asked if he wanted her with him but he refused. She wasn't family and he wasn't a child that needed babysitting. So she went anyway, but he just didn't know. 

“Well the thing is, Rogers, that more than twenty movies were made since 1945,” She tries for lightness but he only tenses up more before breaking and tossing the spoon into his sink. It clunks loudly. “I thought we could have a sleepover. Thought it’d be nice not to be alone.”

“I thought you thrived on your own? Or are you finally becoming human?” Steve turns with a forced quirk of his lips. She sees right through him. He’s about to tell her he doesn't really want the company and that her offer is sweet but he’s just going to turn in early or something dull like that. By the looks of his shifting eyes from her to the door she bets he plans to have her out of the apartment in less than ten minutes. 

“Well, maybe. Just don’t tell the rest of the team. I have a reputation and all,” She makes room at the other end of the couch for Steve to sit down then she puts her feet in his lap. “We could make a fort, sleep on the couch cushions like little kids.”

Steve’s expression hardens instantly, telling Natasha that that’s exactly the wrong thing to say. 

“Why won’t you ever leave me alone?” He snaps looking steadily over at her. He slams the tea on the coffee table in front of him, sloshing some of it on his hand. She can tell by the still rising steam that it must be hot as hell but he doesn’t even flinch. “Jesus fuck, ever since I came out the fucking ice you and all your friends won’t leave me the fuck alone. What, am I on surveillance? Is that what this is? Is this because I won’t go to Fury’s goddamn psychiatrist? I’ve told those bastards, I’m not gonna fucking kill myself. I’m not gonna run away. Jesus H. Christ, and even if I did what does it matter?” He shakes his head and reaches two hands up to tug at his hair. “You know what. I don’t care why you’re really here I just want you out.”

Natasha remains unmoving, cool, expressionless even though the outburst unsettles her. The cursing more than anything, she’s never heard more than so much as a damn come from him. He's been playing his part for too well for so long she almost forgot he was a grown man who hailed from fucking Brooklyn and lived through a war. She supposes it's just hard separating the national emblem he parades around as from the man. Captain America would never kick a table while shouting Jesus H. Christ. Steve Rogers on the other hand obviously would and did. 

“No.” Natasha says. Steve whips his fiery glare back to her eyes. “I’m not here on Shield duty. Frankly Steve, if you want to kill yourself fine. You want to run away? Fine. I’m not stopping you. I’ll even help you. God knows you have no idea how to hide. But what I’m not going to let you do is sit here alone all the time. Your life? It is not missions and coming back to an empty and dark apartment. With shitty decor by the way. We’re fucking fixing that. No, I’m here because sometimes people need each other and you need someone more than anybody I’ve ever known. You are so alone and have been for so long I don’t think you know how to be any other way.”

“How can I be?”

“I know,” She closes her eyes. If she wants his friendship, if she wants his trust, she has to be a little vulnerable. She can practically feel Clint cheering her on in the background. “I know what it’s like to be completely alone. I know what it's like to lose and lose and lose. I’ve been there. I lost my humanity and my childhood. But I’m still here. And I’m - I’m trying to piece things back together. What you want, this life of isolation...You only want it because you think you deserve it. You don’t.”

Steve doesn’t move an inch or glance back up at her. He just breathes shallow breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists. Natasha watches as he struggles to understand what to do next. He could yell some more and part of her expects him to. He’s angry and has a right to be. Or he could drag her out of the apartment himself, she wouldn’t stop him. Instead he takes a deep breath and stands, making a grab for the DVD on the top of the pile Natasha brought. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” He says turning on the player and the television. “I forget sometimes that I’m not the only one who’s-”

“Lost?” She offers lifting a corner of her lips. He nods without looking back at her and puts the movie in. “You’ll like this one. It has that actor you like.”

“Oh yeah?” He cheers up and studies the front and back of the DVD case. “You’re right. He’s a good looking fella, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Rogers,” She chuckles. “He’s a fucking knockout.”

* * *

Soviet made.

Natasha knew before Steve even mentioned the metal arm. Of course it was him. Of course the ghost was back and of course it was just when the dust was starting to settle. She started feeling stable. She even felt like Steve was finally settling into this life. 

When she knew James it was in fragments throughout her youth and then for a few months in her adulthood. He was the biggest threat she had ever faced. And she knew in her bones he always would be.

But those months where he trained her when she was the last Black Widow, this time more than brutally, she discovered what could be worse than facing off against the Winter Soldier. Rather than the asset and the weapon she found herself facing the human, a man. Someone broken and ripped apart. Someone who didn’t know his own name. It took weeks for her to learn it because it took weeks for him to remember it. And it took weeks for him to even speak in normal human tones. He wasn’t made to be human when he didn’t have to be. That was her strength, the playing pretend. 

They had made sure to bleed them both out until all they could be was exactly the monsters they made them into.

What she never knew, what took too long to realize was that James was more than anything she thought he was. When she knew him he was deadly but afraid. He never really understood why he as afraid. She knows that kind of static infused confusion. He wasn’t a lost soul they had plucked out of the crowd and destroyed. She thought in the first few weeks that maybe he was a Russian orphan like she was. But his occasional statements in English and, more often, his cursing in English gave him away. He liked to swear, _Jesus H. Christ_. 

When she had heard Steve say it for the first time a pang of something awful hit her heart and made her want to shudder.

When she sat across from Steve in the back of that truck, her shoulder bleeding out, she couldn’t believe she didn’t put it together sooner. 

The twin Brooklyn accents.

The head cocks.

The shared phrases.

The undying loyalty.

How could she be so blind? And how could she have not been more open and honest with Steve in those days that came to pass? Even months later, after the damage was repaired and the next fight needed to be fought, how could she not tell him everything she knew about the only man in the world under the Soviets that she trusted?

But that part she wasn’t ready to tell Steve. Not with the way he spoke about James, the way he looked at his black and white photograph. 

_He’s a good looking fella, don’t you think?_

* * *

It was in the fall of the year he discovered Bucky was still alive. Discovered that he was the Winter Soldier. After weeks of Steve and Sam hitting hydra cells and chasing cold leads there came bigger jobs that needed more of the team. Sometimes all of them, sometimes just Natasha and Clint. Today it was just Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Steve laying up in a warehouse outside of St. Petersburg. 

“I’m telling you, she was hitting on me. She was, Nat! I saw her eyeing all this. You can’t deny it!” Clint leans back in the wooden chair throwing back a shot of vodka from a film canister. They hit another dead end, Steve is reeling from the loss while he leans against the wall. He kicks off the heavy boots Natasha gave him and unzips the black hoodie that suffocates him. Their undercover work found no trace of the Winter Soldier. They were leaving tomorrow to go back to New York.

“You wish she was hitting on you, Barton.”

“You know what, Wilson? Yeah, I do!” Clint lets out a laugh that reverberates off the bare walls. Natasha rolls her eyes and takes a shot of her own. Clint and Sam seem to be the only ones feeling anything. Steve tried to tell them it couldn’t possibly be a good idea to get trashed in a Russian warehouse on the tails of a search for the world’s deadliest assassin but Clint just shrugged and tipped the bottle back. 

“Man you remember your first kiss? I remember mine. It was Maddie Stillwater. Oh man was she a dream. I was eight years old and she pulled me right in,” Clint smiles drunkenly at the ceiling. “I was never the same again.”

“Mine was Laurie Dennings. She taught me how to swim.” Sam says pouring vodka into the canister. “I heard her talking about her training at school and decided to show up at the public pool that weekend. I was twelve years old. Guess how old she was?”

“Jesus, Sam. Tell me you didn’t pull a Squints?” Clint kicks at Sams feet.

“You did not take a page from Sandlot did you?” Natasha groans. Sam just nods and laughs setting the other two off. Steve smiles to act like he’s with the conversation but he can’t be bothered to laugh. 

“What about you Natasha?” Sam asks. Clint snorts and Nat blinks slowly.

“Some poor Russian boy who didn’t live to see the next day.” She concedes with a tip back of the depleting bottle. Clint lets out a deep laugh that has him clutching his stomach. Sam’s eyes just go wide before he decides to tell himself she’s just kidding in that Natasha Romanoff way.

“Steve?” Clint asks. Three pairs of eyes land on the slumped figure against the wall. Steve grits his teeth for a moment thinking maybe he could lie, say it was Sally on the playground or Mary at Coney Island but Natasha’s voice rings in his ears, _you’re a terrible liar_. And this is his family after all. Who else does he have if not them? 

_Bucky_ , a voice reminds him.

“Um,” Steve clears his throat and keeps his eyes on his dirty fingernails. “I was five years old.”

“Damn, Cap, you started playing young.” Sam nudges his knee with a lazy smile. 

“We were walking home from school and holding hands, just like we always did. Then behind us these older boys started throwing rocks at me. They weren’t big but one nailed me in the back of the head,” Steve pauses to laugh quietly, thinking of the look on Bucky’s face when it happened. “Bucky wailed right around. In my mind it's so heroic but I’m sure to anyone else it was just two wobbly little kids kicking at these three older boys. They just laughed and laughed and laid us on our asses. And Bucky, he was always the...the emotional one. He cared so much about everything. Jesus, crying all the time about everything,” Steve really laughs this time. “He picked me up from the ground and put his hand right back in mine. I could see the tears in his eyes when I asked him why he did it and he said, he said he was always gonna stick up for us. And then he kissed me on the lips. He’d never done that before, it was always on the cheek or wherever. But it became normal, you know? Like holding hands and breathing air and walking to school every morning with Bucky Barnes.” Steve shakes his head thinking about how sweet those early days were.

“We didn’t stop until my ma found out four years after that. We knew enough that we weren't supposed to do it in front of other people. We didn’t really know why but...She didn’t make us stop, she was just worried. The older we’d get the more dangerous it would become, people got killed for it, you know? Ma didn’t want me getting in any more trouble, 'specially when I was always so sick anyhow. Then when she died I was all alone so we moved in together. After years, god after fucking years, it started again like we never even stopped,” Steve feels his eyes prick with tears. Here was his whole life story, his whole world found in these simple, beautiful instances. All these tiny moments and touches. Everything about him explained in the breaths between him and Bucky. “He’d come home from another date. Shit, he was always on one and never with the same gal. He came into bed, a little drunk and he thought I was asleep.” 

No one speaks. They simply watch Steve fall apart where he sits. Clint drops the canister and blinks back tears thinking _damnit damnit damnit_. Of course it was like this, of course Steve had someone he loved and fuck it all, he just had to be the ghost they’re chasing. He looks over at Natasha because if anyone would have known about this it was her and he's a little miffed to see her warm eyes blinking over at Steve. She _did_ know and never told Clint.

Sam shamelessly allows tears to trail down his face, the soft drunk that he is, not taking his eyes off of Steve’s. He always felt how deeply attached to his best friend Steve was, he had the same thing with Riley. He thought maybe it went further than friendship but he never really knew. But now he does and the truth is more tragic than the makeshift reasons Sam built up in his head in defense of Steve's active recklessness. Steve saw his lover fall from a train, he watched him die, only to resurface seventy years later to not know who Steve is. And worse, to beat the living shit outta him. How hard must it be to look at someone you have loved your whole life and see a shadow?

Natasha keeps her dry eyes locked on Steve. She knew about them. She knew since that day in D.C. And it was only made certain when she did her research. She read biographies and novels and plays before she met Steve in 2011. When Fury told her about him coming back to life she did her homework. She watched the movies and the documentaries. But since D.C. the searches were different. These weren't answers she would get from heteronormative storytelling and Steve's rare monotone recollections. No, she had to do some real looking and found every answer she needed in one thing; Bucky's little sister's short story. So, yes Clint, Natasha does know about this and the revelation laid out in front of her is not all that shocking. It just proves how deep this goes. _Five years old for fucks sake?_ Her nails dig into her skin. Hearing it like this, so personal and wrecked and punctuated with tears, it splinters her heart and makes her shuffle closer to Steve on her knees. 

“He started kissing the back of my neck. And I turned around in his arms. His eyes went all wide like he didn’t think I was gonna feel it or like he couldn’t believe he did it. Jesus fuck,” Steve lets his body break into heavy but quiet sobs. “Goddamnit, he was everything. He probably doesn’t - doesn’t even remember.” Steve pulls his knees up and buries his face into them. He curls tight and shuts out the world. He rocks maybe, he can’t really tell he just knows he’s in pain and maybe so much that his body is overflowing. 

“He’s out there, Steve. We’re going to find him.” Natasha's hands run through his hair and over his shoulders before she wraps him up in her hold. Clint comes over and presses two tiny kisses to his messy hair. Sam whispers things to him as he cries for two hours then finally falls asleep against Natasha. She doesn’t sleep through the night, none of them do. Not when thoughts of the Winter Soldier kissing Steve since they were five years old is reeling through their brains. 

* * *

“Did you know him?” Steve asks not daring to look at how her face changes. He knows the answer but he wants to hear it from her. How could she not know him when they came from the same place? Were made by the same people? She’s harder to read than anyone he’s ever met but there is no masking the look of recognition that graces her features when they talk about Bucky's past in Russia. Since they've gotten closer she doesn't hide so much from him anymore. Just like he hardly hides from her. Now she sits perched on his kitchen counter as he undresses from his uniform. He would be shy about it but he’s angry and it's not like he’s stripping all the way down to nothing but his socks. And it's _Natasha_.

“Nat.” He snaps. He’s been snapping at everyone these days. She eyes him wanting to keep it to herself for longer. She had told Clint on the jet ride back, he knew most of it, but she had told him the parts she had left out. How further than the training and the bloody missions they had a twisted and desperate relationship kept hidden. The world’s deadliest assassin and the world’s greatest spy. The Soldier and the Spider.

“You know that I did.” She finally gets out. Maybe he’ll leave it at that. Accept the feeble and vague response. But this is Steve and he won’t stop until it hurts so she pushes herself to offer more. “He trained me as a little girl. I was one of twenty-seven Black Widows. He didn’t train all of us. Just the ones that continued and that eventually meant just me. When I was older, just a few years before I deflected and joined Shield, he trained me again. He didn’t recognize me of course. He was always so...blank. But for maybe the first time as the asset they sent him on a three month long undercover mission. Guess who with?” 

Steve ignores the empty smirk on her face and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s left in his undershorts and a tee shirt waiting heatedly for her to continue. 

“Those first few weeks were terrifying. He never spoke and when he did it was in stilted, threatening Russian. He didn’t know how to be a man until his undercover training was forced into use. Then he was brilliant. Perfecting regional dialects and weaving together the perfect stories to get what he wanted. After awhile I think things started coming to him, memories maybe. I was supposed to use a primitive wiping method to keep him in check but I could never do it. He woke with nightmares every single night. Never screamed just sat straight up and stared off until morning. I think being out of cryo so long let him access parts of him that they pushed down so deep they never thought could come back to light. But they did. Sometimes he spoke...he spoke in English. Cursed in English most often. He sounded like you.”

“What?”

“Some nights before we slept he would speak with this accent. That old Brooklyn drawl.” She swallows and looks down. The New York in James only ever came out when they were fucking but she couldn’t bare to look Steve in the eye and reveal that. 

“What’d he say?” Steve breathes moving towards her. A few choice phrases flash through her mind, things she didn’t want to repeat in front of Captain America, but then again Steve wasn’t him was he? He had perhaps said worse in anger and worry. Just not as dirty. Steve senses her apprehension and looks somehow even more sternly down at her. 

“He ever call you doll, Steve? Or sweetheart?” Natasha asks quietly. The effect is instant, his face drops, his skin goes white, and his mouth hangs open dry. 

“You fucked him?” The words are more of an exhale than actual enunciated sounds but she understands nonetheless. She is a little surprised at how shocked he is but she guesses that if she found out Clint had, at one point, carried on a torrid affair with Steve her whole world would be upside down too. 

She nods and silence stretches between them for what she counts as forty-three seconds.

“Did you love him?” He asks sounding choked off and distant. She pulls her gaze to his then and sees his tight features and those strong hands shaking. She shakes her head hard.

“Not like real love. It was because he was there. It was all we had away from the killing and the orders. He was important to me then but I was so young and fucked up.”

“What will you do when you see him again?”

“Well I already did twice, didn’t I?”

“Yeah and you got shot both times. How’d that feel?”

“As is the case with most gunshot wounds: like shit, Rogers.”

“Guess that’s what you get for fucking my boyfriend.” He quirks a humorous smile and she lets out a surprised laugh. This is by far a completely different man than the one she fought side by side with in New York, even a different man than D.C. The more Natasha thought about it the more she realized Steve was never exactly the same man twice. But it's something to consider that nobody ever really is.

“There’s no love left there, Steve,” She clarifies. “It was a crush. And I knew when we were doing it that he didn’t give a damn about me. Not deeply, anyway, like he saw me as a lover. He cared in that simple way of his because he was a good man but I swear to god he could never even look me in the eye when he was inside me.” Steve winces a little but his lips curl.

“That’s probably because he’s so fucking gay.” Steve laughs. Natasha eyes him suspiciously but with a smile of her own. 

“Wasn’t he this big charmer in the forties? I thought he liked both? Like you?”

“Oh god no, Natasha,” Steve is practically wheezing. “He’s...he’s so…” He can’t even finish the statement through the laughter and Natasha rolls her green eyes at him. 

“So when he told me he wasn’t a fan of women he wasn’t talking about not trusting me, huh?” She practically giggles and the sound is so new and foreign to Steve he lifts up his laughter wet eyes and just kisses her cheeks over and over. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He asks once the glee tapers off. She shrugs a shoulder and shoots him a devilish smile.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? You got the greatest love story ever not-told and you withheld that from me? Don’t you know I’m a romantic?” 

“Oh yeah,” He lets out a sarcastic snort. “Greatest sap I’ve ever met.” He doesn’t have time to blink before her thin arms are pulling him impossibly tight. They stay like that for a long time before Steve feels her shuddering against him.

“Thank you.” Steve whispers against her hair. She’s wearing it long now with her natural waves. It's so simple and beautiful and maybe the most honest look he’s ever seen on her. She looks so young and nothing like the woman he met before aliens in New York. Some days it's hard for him to believe she’s deadly when she smiles so sweetly. 

“He’s gonna remember you. He’s gonna come back to you. You deserve so much better than this, Steve.” She murmurs into his hot skin then places a damp kiss on his throat. He nods and pulls her closer. They sway in one another's arms in the silence of Stark Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silhouette - Aquilo
> 
> uuuuhhh nat u own my heart and soul


	26. Is This Really What We've Envisioned?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And you don't know what you've got until it's gone  
> And you don't know who to love until you're lost  
> And you don't know how to feel until the moment's passed  
> I wish you'd live like you're made of glass

Bucky looks over at Steve illuminated by the setting fire light. It blazes and maybe it's a lot closer than it lets on because Bucky feels all this stifling heat building in his belly. But the sun is still too far away and going further so he reaches out for Steve’s beautiful artist hand and brings it to his lips. He’s twenty-two years old and sitting on the fire escape as Steve sketches with the last light of the day. Everything feels so hazy, so far away like this is a memory from another lifetime. 

“Come inside?” Bucky whispers against his skin. 

“Gimme a minute I’m almost finished.” Steve furrows his brows and pushes the pencil down a little harder. His tongue just barely darts out and Bucky is close to throwing the sketchbook right over the side of the grating they sit on and tackling Steve’s sweet little body under him. 

“Stevie,” Bucky whines scooting closer. “Please.” 

“Just a second, Buck,” He mutters getting annoyed. “And get off me before the neighbors see.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Well you hafta,” Steve gives him a good shove which results in a whiny sigh. “Go inside and wait for me I’ll be done in a minute.” Bucky ignores him but scoots away to give him space. From his spot he watches Steve’s movements as he works. It's still one of Bucky’s favorite things in the world. He doesn’t know what he’s drawing tonight but his money is on himself, it usually is and that fact alone brings a warmth to Bucky’s heart. He smiles at the blond and then closes his eyes to let the cooling summer air blanket over him. 

He must drift off because next thing Steve is shoving him again and it gives Bucky a little start. “Come on,” he says pulling Bucky through the window. “Time for bed.”

“I missed you.” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s forehead as he pulls him close. He can feel Steve laugh against him.

“We were together all day.”

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in _seventy years._ ” He whispers pulling them both backwards onto the bed. And to Bucky right now that statement feels terribly real. He can’t tell why and half of his brain is warning him it’d be a bad idea to try and figure that out but he knows. He knows. _He knows_.

This moment is fleeting, is fading. 

"And I'm the dramatic one?" Steve smiles. He automatically straddles Bucky and mouths at his throat, moving up to bite at the skin behind his ear then sucking on his earlobe. Bucky can feel Steve shake his thin shirt off after Bucky undoes the buttons. Bucky leans forward to bite Steve’s collar bone and it tastes so sweet he groans, sending vibrations through Steve’s bones. His hand slips between them to undo the button on Steve’s pants then uses the other to lift Steve up a little so he can pull them down enough to fit Bucky’s hand down his undershorts. Steve gasps in Bucky’s ear before biting down hard on his left shoulder. The pain is exquisite and Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head. Steve grinds against Bucky’s grip then pushes him on his back. The force makes Bucky’s hand slip off and his eyes struggle to refocus. Bucky watches as Steve pulls his pants and undershorts all the way off then rests on his knees over Bucky’s still clothed form. His beautiful slim fingers wrap around his cock and give a couple strokes before he looks down at Bucky and registers his small desperate whimpers. As an act of mercy, Bucky surmises, Steve pulls the shirt off of him and starts undoing his pants. Before he pulls them off all the way he palms at Bucky’s undeniable hardness. In the back of Bucky’s mind he thinks there are things he should be saying or want to say, but it's all so hazy he pulls his entire focus just to Steve and remains breathlessly quiet. In fact everything is very quiet save for their moans and gasps. It’s just the stillness and their love filling up the atmosphere. 

For the first time all night, for the first time in an entire lifetime, Steve leans down and kisses Bucky. It's so gentle, so heartbreakingly soft that Bucky feels his bones shatter and his muscles melt. His whole body sinks through the mattress like he’s been falling through the air and now he’s crashing through the surface of the water except his body won’t slow down.

“I love you.” Steve whispers as he pulls back. Bucky watches Steve open his eyes, so blue even in the dark. Bucky opens his mouth to say it back because he loves him too, so much. Too much. But nothing will come out but a strangled cry. To make up for the lack of response Bucky flips them over. His hands go to cradle Steve’s face but the contours change, the sharpness hardens and his eyes lose a bit of light. Bucky pulls one hand away to steady himself on Steve’s chest and finds it solid and expansive. The change makes Bucky’s body tremble with fear as he tries to look anywhere but at the huge muscle mass beneath him. He notices around him the dim canteen lit tightness of an army tent. He sees their uniforms crumpled on the ground, watches as the tent flap billows slightly from a European breeze. 

Bucky’s eyes snap back to Steve’s as he feels the body underneath him begin to grind up into Bucky’s. The fear seeps into warmth because no matter the change he knows that at least Steve, if anything, is right somehow. He’s Steve and that's the center of Bucky’s universe right now. He lets the feeling of their hard cocks rubbing against each other take him out of his own mind.

“Bucky,” Steve pants. “Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.” The repetition makes Bucky a little sick. His head goes dizzy and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to recalibrate. _Where am I?_ Suddenly the name sounds foreign, unfamiliar and when the Soldier hears this man underneath him gasp it into his shoulder it makes his skin prick with nervousness. Should he know that name? Should he recognize the lips saying it? Who is the man whose hand kneads at his ass before slipping a wet finger inside him. The Soldier moans but then bites his lip in terror. It shouldn’t feel good, right? He shouldn’t make any sound unless they tell him to, right?

“Bucky,” Someone says and the Soldier’s head spins again. His hands clench at the sheets, no there are no sheets, he clenches at the cot, no there is no cot. He clenches at the metal arms of the chair he’s strapped into and he sighs with the knowledge that this is real, this is solid. 

“Bucky?” It comes again but far away this time. There is no moan to follow and no hands on his skin. It's a question and he smells blood when he hears it. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The Soldier finally breaks.

He sits up and pants, blinks his eyes open in the darkness. _Another_ , he assesses thinking of the nightmare that passed, or the memories? Regardless he stands, grabs his backpack, and slips out of the empty room. He’d rather walk through the streets and burrow up somewhere new than stay in one place for too long shaken and confused. He can’t seem to feel safe since the man from his dream fought him in D.C. 

_Steve_ , his brain reminds him. _He’s on the run because of Steve_.

_No, you’re free because of Steve._

_That can’t be right._

_It is. He saved your sorry ass, again._

_Again?_

_It was in some other life._

_Like the dream._

_Was it a dream?_

He shakes his head and pulls his straps tighter. It has been months of running and rambling and burning Nazi bases to the ground. He's done his part in exacting deserved consequences. Now it's time to hide and stay hidden. Time to figure out the noise in his head before risking a confrontation with _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5AM - Amber Run


	27. Mais Ca Vie Sépare Ceux Qui S'aiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh how I wish I could remember  
> The joyful days when we were friends  
> At that time life was more beautiful  
> And the sun burned more than it does today  
> Fallen leaves can be picked up by the shovelful  
> You see, I haven't forgotten...  
> Fallen leaves can be picked up by the shovelful  
> So can memories and regrets  
> And the north wind takes them  
> Into the cold night of oblivion  
> You see, I haven't forgotten  
> The song you used to sing me
> 
> This song is like us  
> You used to love me and I used to love you  
> And we used to live together  
> You loving me, me loving you  
> But life separates lovers  
> Very slowly, noiselessly  
> And the sea erases on the sand  
> The separated lovers' footprints

Fall 2014

Money is no problem, Hydra made sure of that. He steals thousands at a time to fund his international escapades. When those are taken care of, either by him or with the not welcome but not unwelcome help of the Avengers, he takes time for himself. He blows one last base to hell and back in South America then returns to North America. It's Autumn when he comes back and the east coast is littered in red and gold. He turns his face to the sky, briefly, to breathe in the blustery scent of fall. Then he continues through the streets of Boston where he stays for three nights then drifts back into New York. It takes weeks for him to work up the courage to step foot in the city. Even more when he tries to visit Brooklyn. His memory is shit still but he remembers enough to know that it fucking hurts to see his home grown up and out of him. It fucking hurts knowing everybody but Steve and Georgie is dead. Both of which he can't talk to right now. Even if he got his sanity back he's still a danger and a man on the run. He'd get Steve worked up and more reckless than ever and G. _Jesus_. G, he might get her killed somehow. _He_ might even kill her. And how the hell was he supposed to see her now anyway? She wasn't a little girl anymore. She was an old woman. She might not even want to see him. She might be afraid of him.

How was he supposed to bear that?

While in New York Bucky buys a coffee, _a really fucking expensive coffee with too much sugar_ , then works his way to his destination. He ran out two days ago of space in the journals he had. With the ten he managed to fill, or somewhat fill but couldn't lay his eyes on again for the world, he hid. It took him a long while to find the perfect place to keep them. He considered burying them in Arizona or tucking them in a cave in Nepal but at the end of the day he knew that the best place was right under the nose of none other than Steve Rogers, that starry-eyed bastard. Since D.C. Steve's been on the move a lot. He was either on a personal revenge mission against Hydra, on a fruitless search mission for Bucky, nodding off in Stark Tower, or passing out on Georgie's couch in Brooklyn. So all in all he hasn't been in one place for long but his _things_ have. 

In upstate New York is a facility that Bucky can tell is about to be something of a permanent fixture in the Avenger's real estate holdings. For about a month now there have been deliveries coming in from the city and other places that remain irrelevant to Bucky's assessment. Fourteen days ago a trailer brought in Steve's things from D.C. that had been in a storage unit outside of Washington under the name Michael Carter. Bucky surveyed the delivery and watched them haul boxes and a wooden trunk into a large bedroom on the second floor of the facility. Three nights later Bucky lets himself in to Steve's room and shamelessly goes through his things. If Bucky's shoddy memories serve him right he knows that Steve wouldn't give a damn if Bucky rifled through his meager belongings. In fact, the Steve of 2015 would probably faint if he knew Bucky was here right now leaving his fingerprints on Steve's ugly ass Iron Man blanket. When he sees the trunk he picks the lock and opens it wide. He doesn't know what he expects to find but a mess of keepsakes isn't it. Most of it looks too old or not old enough to actually be Steve's and when he studies the pictures and letters he sees that majority of it is _his_. Or rather, it's his family's. Still. It's his. 

He goes through the mess for hours then leaves at five a.m.. He returns the next night to finish going through what he didn't get to the night before. He reads through every letter his sisters sent to one another. He looks at every picture. He reads the notes, the cards, the napkin notes. He fiddles with the hairpins, the tea light candle that marks Becca's fiftieth wedding anniversary, the casino dice. He fingers the rings and the tangled gold chains. He gives hardly any time to the war era memorabilia. He lived it for Christ's sake. But the tokens of his sisters' world are priceless and he pores over the piles of their lives. When the unexpected tears run out he lifts the tin box from the bottom of the trunk. With a sting, he recognizes it immediately and pops the top off. Inside are a few more things of Becca's, the hardest to see is the card he sent her. Well, that Peggy sent her. He sucks in a watery breath as he reads the note he doesn't remember writing. He remembers clamoring through the rubble of a dress shop in France with Steve and rescuing a beautiful pink thing that fluffed around them. He remembers asking Peggy to find a loophole to get it sent over to his sister in time for her wedding but it took a year and a half, and Bucky's own death, for the job to get done. He looks at Steve's initials at the bottom and he knows he never saw him do that. He didn't even know Steve knew about the card. But someone must have found it in Bucky's things after he fell off that fucking train. And Peggy's note. Shit, Peggy really is the angel he never deserved. 

Bucky sets the card aside and reaches for Sarah's still undeveloped film. Bucky grunts at the fact Steve still hasn't developed it. Typical. Bucky continues on and runs his fingers over the unopened letters. Steve really hasn't bothered to take a peak into his own mother's world. Bucky can't say he's not a little relieved. He hasn't read what's inside these envelopes but he has a feeling it's Sarah's messy truth. Bucky doesn't remember learning it but he knows fragments of it. Something about Steve's father that involves bruises and abuse rather than mustard gas in the Great War.

Bucky rolls back on his heels, sighs, and perks his ears up at the sound of someone walking on the first floor directly underneath him. He'd think, with someone like Stark on the team, someone would have thought of soundproofing the building. He rolls his probably still red eyes and starts putting the clutter away. There's still room in the trunk and Bucky decides this is where his journals are going. He decided a while ago he would keep them somewhere in Steve's room but the trunk is even better. Bucky knows Steve probably looked through it all once then slammed it shut and never sniffed it's way ever again. He stacks his journals neatly on the right side and closes it tight.

Now, Bucky is sorely missing the weight of his journals on his back and is on the hunt for restocking his supply. On his first round he bought cheap ones from a dollar store but now Bucky has some useful knowledge under his belt about a bookstore selling real journals. And Bucky wants to take a look. He finds the store from the directions he printed out in a library and walks in with his head down. It takes him ten minutes of turning corner after corner in a Barnes (ha) & Noble before he finds the wall of journals. He doesn't bother looking at the prices, his ex-Nazi overlords got him covered. He picks out fifteen and hauls them to the counter. The checkout girl stares wide eyed between the pile and Bucky.

"Uh," She starts. "Did you find everything okay?" Bucky nods and not so subtly nudges the journals a little closer to her.

"Sure did, thanks." Bucky forces out. Part of his acclimation into the modern world includes actually interacting with people and not ignoring their harmless conversation. She nods in response. He watches her chuckle quietly when she gets to journal number ten.

"Preparing for the end of the world?" She asks trying not to smile too wide at her own remark. Bucky hunches his shoulders.

"Something like that." Bucky mumbles. She keeps giggling to herself as she rings up the rest. She's young, Bucky can see. And her deep brown eyes are full of light as she tells him the total. It's steep and Bucky's eyes goes wide as he hands her a fistful of cash. She takes a minute to sort through it and shove it into the register. She hands him a foot long receipt and beams him a cheerful smile he returns when he reminds himself he's contributing to the imminent bankruptcy of Hydra. Fifteen more journals just might do it.

* * *

It's the next day when Bucky is tucking his many journals into his backpack when he sees the cigarette butt swept into one of the corners of the room. It gives him an idea and on his way out of Brooklyn he stops and buys the first pack he sees. He knows now that cigarettes are shit for your health but he's a super soldier assassin so he'd like to see this nicotine twig try and kill him. It's half out of nostalgia and half out of spite that he lights the first cigarette. The flavor is foreign, nothing like the ones he knew, and he chokes loudly on the first puff. A woman who passes by him bites her lip to keep a smile off her face.

For some odd reason the leaves and the smoke he blows reminds him of France and suddenly he's thinking of this song he didn't know he knew. But the melody flows through him and over him, landing in his throat and his mind is begging him to sing. He knows that the Bucky before liked to sing, and knew every word to every song. But now it's different and he can't draw attention to himself. Smoking as he walks the streets is taking it far enough. But this is New York and who pays attention to anyone around them in this hellscape? And the urge, the fucking urge, is too strong. He's the Winter Soldier, he really should be stronger than this.

 _Shut the fuck up, Bucky._ He takes an aggressive drag and huffs it out with annoyance. The voice in his head is still whining, and in French no less, so he gives in. _Fine! You pushy son of a bitch_. He clears his throat and hums one single note. It's quiet and embarrassing but the sidewalk is barely busy so no one gives him a second glance. He walks twenty feet more before trying again, crunching dead leaves underneath his feet. He hums to the first verse, not dumb enough to sing anything aloud. But the words flit through his head as he goes.

_Oh ! je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes_

Bucky flicks ash off his cigarette and narrows his eyes at the nearest tree thinking how fitting the first line is.

_Des jours heureux où nous étions amis._

_En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle,_

_et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui_

The wind picks up and Bucky shuffles a little slower, working through the French. He picked it up easy in the war and since then he mastered regional dialects simply. But he wants to hear it in his head, the candle wax words, silky and coating his throat as the vibrations he makes from his hums warms his insides.

_Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle._

_Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié..._

_Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,_

_Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi_

_Et le vent du nord les emporte_

_Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli._

_Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié_

_La chanson que tu me chantais_

He feels a lump form in his throat and he unwittingly begins softly singing the words aloud. It makes him think of Steve, fuck does it ever. The bits and pieces and dreams and memories surrounding him are the hardest to face but the hardest to ignore. Steve never sang to him, not that he can remember but he thinks that if he ever did it would sound like shit. That feels familiar, the act of shutting Steve up when he tries to sing.

_C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble_

Bucky slows to a stop without knowing he does it. _This song is like us_. He feels ghost fingers on his jaw, phantom lips on his brow. A distant voice whispering pretty things to him.

_Toi, tu m'aimais et je t'aimais_

It feels silly, but tears prick his eyes. Bucky imagines Steve now, running around the globe like he's chasing his tail. He's looking for Bucky in everything he sees, Bucky knows it. He _doesn't_ know Steve anymore and maybe he never will. But somehow, there was something there - _tu m'aimais et je t'aimais_. He feels his bones sinking outside of him as he thinks of them together.

_Et nous vivions tous les deux ensemble,_

 _Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais_

A nonexistent, ancient Brooklyn passes by his vision. Radios and dance halls. Late, late nights packed in a twin sized bed. Whispers like lace and cold metal buttons.

_Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment,_

 _Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit_

He screws his eyes shut and tries to steady his breathing. Him, _Bucky_ , might have deserved this fate. But if Bucky knows anything it's that Steven Grant Rogers _didn't_. Life separates lovers, as Bucky sings, and a burning hot ache weighs in his chest. Were they really lovers? Was it really as gentle as that?

_Et la mer efface sur le sable_

 _les pas des amants désunis_

His cigarette is left ignored between his fingers, his lips left parted in deft chaos. It's poisonous to bother with sentiment but how can he not when gold hair and bright blue eyes hang on his mind? Bucky starts walking again, holding himself tight. _Time to get the hell out of America again_ he thinks bitterly. Truly - honestly - fuck Steve if he makes him do sad shit like this. Singing old French break up songs? Jesus H. Christ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Les Feuilles Mortes - Edith Piaf (there are a billion versions but i bop to this one most often)
> 
> The translations of his singing are in the chapter summary. And I know I'm totally pushing it here bc this song was written in 1945 and they died the same year but for the sake of the story ignore it!!!! 
> 
> Uuuuh I die for comments and kudos i can't explain how grateful i am:)


	28. I Am Your Knight Of Noir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a road  
> I'm on a road and I can't go back, go back  
> A city door, the mausoleum when she invited me in  
> Gave me a lie  
> Smoke through my lungs and blew me a kiss through my window
> 
> I used to be  
> I used to be the only good guy left in town  
> She hypnotized  
> She hypnotized an army of private eyes  
> And I wanna be  
> The one to see what she hides underneath her coat  
> Underneath her coat

2015

At first he sees nothing but red and it makes his breath halt and his heart hammer. When the haze clears he feels different, funny, stiff. He looks down at himself and sees the brown of his dress uniform. His ears are assaulted with the garish racket of big band music. It would feel nostalgic if it didn't settle over him so violently. There's laughter but it's so deafening it's more like screaming. There's the clash of an instrument and he flinches waiting for the debris from the explosion. He's drenched in nervous sweat.

"Steve?" A soft voice calls over his shoulder. He turns and sees Peggy, dressed sweetly in blue and smiling like he's never left her. He swallows and finds his throat is dry. The music gets quieter, enough for him to focus on the brown of her eyes. "The war's over, Steve. We can go home. Imagine it." Her smile softens and he tries, he does, he pictures a home with her, a life with her. He pictures a life with _Bucky_. But neither of them match up. Another clash and he grits his teeth. He pulls her close in a twirl then they sway for a second before she says, "Oh! I nearly forgot, darling. He's waiting for you." Everything, even time, seems to stop. Steve feels his blood run cold from excitement and fear. Where is he? Is he okay? Is he really alive? Bucky always made play like they'd both survive this war, he would pretend, for Steve's sake, that they'd get through it together. But neither of them ever dreamed it possible.

"Would you take me to him, Pegs?" Steve bites the inside of his cheek, looking at her earnestly. She just stays gazing at him with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. _She really is beautiful_. His hand grips her waist tighter as she says with a slight laugh, "You boys, ever eager for one another. Of course, darling, he's just this way." She pulls away making him miss her warmth but soon he's being led to the doorway. The white light spills around him as she pushes open the doors. It blinds him and his eyes strain to adjust but what he sees when they do chokes off his breath. He gapes unabashedly at the man before him.

"Bucky." Steve sighs, it's the first breath after coming up from water, the deep inhale when spring finally arrives, the heavy gasps when they slide together at night. Saying his name and seeing him there in the white glow is relief. He never thought too hard, lest he wanted to break down, about what it would feel like to come home but as he looks at Bucky now dressed sharply in a blue button down and styled back hair, he feels the burden of war and death lifted.

"Hello, sweetheart." Bucky replies, voice like warm honey. The music and laughter from the other room fades into silence and even Peggy has made herself scarce. It is only the two of them in this funny little alcove of the dance hall lobby. Bucky was seated when Steve came through the doors but now he stands steps away from his reach. He tries to look composed but Steve can see the smile curling at his lips. In a second he's giggling at him and closing the distance. Their arms find their way around each other by muscle memory. Steve can feel Bucky shake against him, still overcome with giddy mirth. Steve thinks of a day a thousand lifetimes ago yet just months prior from this impossible moment. He was laughing then too and Steve looked at him with equal cheer.

"What's so funny, honey?" Steve breathes in the familiar scent of Bucky's skin, his hair. Bucky pulls back, just enough for their eyes to meet. Their noses are brushing and Steve licks his lips.

"I told you I wanted to go dancing, remember?" His lips stay quirked up as he places a soft kiss against Steve's lips. Steve can feel himself shiver from the contact. "One hall down, nine hundred some more to go."

"We'll spend our whole lives dancing in places like this." Steve whispers against the open heat of Bucky's mouth.

"See, that don't sound too bad, huh, sweetheart?" Bucky tugs Steve's bottom lip with his teeth and Steve leans into it with hunger. Bucky gets them swaying to the sound of music coming from the other room. Steve hadn't noticed it picked back up but now that he has he listens to the satin like notes, hears Bucky hum along with it. Steve is about to remark on the song, he knows it but he can't place it, when it begins to overpower his thoughts. It's too loud like it was earlier but Bucky hasn't noticed. The clashing is coming back and Steve flinches hard, tightening his hold on Bucky. A thunderous bang sounds from behind him and he snaps his head around. There's nothing there but the crowded hall through the cracked open doors. Steve feels colder, empty all of a sudden and turns back to see no sign of Bucky.

"Buck?" Steve calls, fully panicked. He rushes back into the dance hall, his eyes darting all around in search of his neat brown hair. He pushes through couples and throngs of groups of soldiers hanging off each other and cackling up a storm. He can't find Bucky, he doesn't even see Pegs, or _anyone_ he recognizes. He whips around breathing heavy and in a blink the hall is empty, dead silent. "No, please." Steve's plea echoes through the barren space. He is alone, the war is over and he is alone.

* * *

Part of Bucky's daily activities includes not stalking, per se, the Avengers and by extension Steve Rogers, but keeping detailed track of most of the things they do. That means he knows exactly where they go after Hulk and Big Fat Iron Man have a petty brawl in a heavily populated area that the media crawls up their ass about. To be fair, the Avengers have a bad habit of not finding a quiet place like Kansas to do a little world saving.

Right now they're on their way to what looks like the middle of nowhere, U.S.A. Bucky pops another blackberry in his mouth as he tracks Steve on his phone.

Bucky is in Rome at the moment, traveling from a small village where he spent two weeks as a farm hand. Things are better, the work helps but he still wakes up from nightmares and night terrors. Certain objects or voices or familiar faces that turn out to be strangers still set him off. But his memories are coming back steadily and he's starting to feel human again. He's still writing down everything he can, which helps. He might even have to pay Steve's upstate New York room a visit soon for a drop off.

He's not ready to go to Steve yet or let him find him but he's starting to piece together their relationship. It's meteoric, their past, and Bucky's tried to run from it or even have some goddamn distance from it but it stays no matter what Bucky does to shut it out.

It was another walking nightmare or maybe memory that officially got him forcibly removed from the farm. He had seized up with terrifying visions of an assassination in the early seventies followed by a brutal torment by his handlers afterwards. He left a witness and was punished for it then made to go back and finish the job the next day. He had left the girl alive for a reason; she was a fucking child. The memory made him pass out in the middle of the field and then later he woke up in the dirt screaming. The farmer let him go, saying he couldn't have anyone around scaring his wife and kids. He didn't care for the work anyway, it was just digging and planting in the course of the warming spring weather. There were hardly any animals, just one big goose that wouldn't leave Bucky alone. It would chase him around morning to night, quacking unnecessarily loudly at him. He had, in the short two weeks, fondly called the goose Loud Steve. There was also a mule which he called Smelly Steve. Bucky laughed at his own cleverness.

He plans to head south soon, maybe South Africa but for the moment he's just enjoying Rome. One benefit of being an ex-assassin with memory issues: there's plenty of time to soul search like a rich white college student. Bucky finishes off the berries and puts his phone away when he sees Steve stop. They're in farm country, nowhereville, yeehaw territory. Bucky laughs under his breath at the image of Steve in the middle of a corn field. He runs a hand through his sun warmed hair then puts on his straw hat. It's terribly ugly but Bucky absolutely adores it. He got it in Oklahoma and hasn't worn anything since. He really does have to hand it to middle America for giving him some top notch disguise material. Maybe Steve will get himself a straw hat too. Then they can match.

Bucky gets up from the tiny cafe table and hikes up his backpack. He got a new one when he got to London, one with a handy clip across the chest so he can secure it when he has to make a quick getaway. Modern marvels. He walks around the city and takes in the sights until dusk then he finds a small cheap place to stay. Bucky sighs in comfort as his body hits the hard mattress. He was getting sick to death of the hay filled one he was sleeping on at the farm. He remembers once he had to sleep on one in the war and he hated it then too. Bucky leaves the lamp on at his bedside and throws his right arm back under his head.

"Hope you're having fun milking the cows, Steve." Bucky says to the evening before letting himself fall asleep.

* * *

Steve is not having fun.

His head is pounding and he feels like he's on the verge of throwing up. Flashes of bright red smiles and the ringing of cymbals weave viciously through his mind. He sees a laughing Bucky. He holds a glowing Peggy. Yeah, he might throw up after all. Steve clenches and unclenches his fist trying to will it down. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself, especially when they've all been fucked with. He isn't any more hurt than anyone else around him. _Get it together_. But Bucky is still there looking unscathed and perfectly happy, a vision of what he knows no longer exists. Steve gags and Tony looks over at him skeptically.

"Cap-" Tony barely has time to pop the 'p' before Steve interrupts him.

"Leave it." His voice is gruff and weak and he has to screw his eyes shut to keep out the light coming in through the cockpit. Everything is hurting. He doesn't need to talk about it.

When the Avengers arrive at Clint's mystery location Steve gapes at the farm. It's beautiful but it's...weird. Unexpected? Clint lands the quinjet out front without a word. Steve can hear Natasha sigh in relief behind him.

"Welcome to the old homestead, troops." Clint opens the hatch of the quinjet and they all file out. Everyone is mostly quiet, feeling off kilter since the witch messed with their minds. Steve breathes in the grassy air and knows that old him woulda been on the floor hacking up a lung right about now.

"You," Thor waves his hand in a vague gesture and squints his eyes at the house in front of them. "Live here?"

"I thought you lived in Bed Stuy?" Steve asks thinking of that apartment building he won from the Russians.

"He does." Natasha supplies with a tired wink. They walk into the empty house and get a look around. It looks lived in as if the owners (being Clint?) hadn't been absent for more than a couple days.

"So what," Tony sniffs the air. "This a vacation home? Spy headquarters? Are we going to go into your basement and find a secret elevator that takes us to Zion?"

"Hell of a safe house." Steve mumbles. It's big, Steve can tell just from wandering through the first floor.

"It's nice, Clint." Banner offers. He still has his arms wrapped around himself.

"Hey, thanks man," Clint walks over and lays a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder. They were all hit pretty bad from their visions but Bruce perhaps worst of all seeing as he leveled a city today. "Let me show you guys to your rooms." Everyone starts following Clint up the stairs except Thor who walks swiftly out the front door. Steve follows and calls after him but Thor leaves anyway, saying he needs to find an answer for his vision. Steve watches him disappear into the sky then meanders his way back inside. With the weight of his own vision still bearing down on him Steve feels his stomach turn at the sight of the house. It reminds him of family, the family he didn't have and probably never will. Fuck, it isn't like he _ever_ would have moved his ass to a corn field but still. It's the principle of the thing. It's the symbolism this house is shoving down his throat. His gaze catches on cat toys littered in the corner next to the television and his mind numbs. Even Clint can find enough normalcy. What's wrong with Steve?

"They're for Liho." Natasha says standing on the bottom step.

"I didn't know Clint was a cat person." Steve states walking towards her. Natasha smiles.

"He isn't." She lets the smile drop and inclines her head up the stairs. His body feels heavy and his suit is starting to pinch and chafe so he climbs the stairs behind Nat, following the sound of Clint's voice from the top. He really does have a room for everyone up here.

"You're over here." Clint sees Steve and gestures to the doorway across from where Natasha is slinking into hers. Steve nods and goes inside, thanking him then shutting the door softly. He needs a breather, a minute to relax and get this fucking suit off of him. He strips down to his skin and debates a shower but it requires too much effort so he just falls on top of the bed. He closes his eyes and must drift off because next thing he knows he's being startled awake by a knock at the door.

"Uh," Steve mumbles with his eyes still closed. "Just a sec." But whoever is on the other side ignores him and walks in then closes the door behind them.

"Why the hell are you naked, Steve?" Natasha asks sounding exasperated but amused. Steve peaks at her through slits then sits up to get a better look at her. She's dressed in a men's robe and has her arms folded over her chest. Nat is a wonderful liar but she's scared and looking guilty, Steve can tell. He rolls on his side and reaches over the bed to search for his underwear. When he finds them he pulls them on and makes room on the bed for Nat to sit down. He pats the space when she hesitates.

"What's going on?" Steve asks her as she knocks her shoulder against his. She stays silent for a beat then she looks down and begins.

"Do you ever feel like a monster?" It's a question that doesn't need an answer. "Sometimes I forget everything we've done. I forget the good things I've been a part of. Some days I'm just the Russian spy, deadly and ruthless. I'm nothing but a gun in the dark. I'm not an Avenger. I'm not a hero. Even if I do good things it will never erase who I was. And I was reminded that today." He _gets_ this, they've both always had an understanding between each other. An automatic connection that exuded _I know who you are_.

"You wanna tell me what you saw?"

"You wanna tell me?" She deflects. Steve takes a deep breath and gives her a half smile.

"Yeah, I thought so. Now," She looks him up and down. "Tell me why you were naked."

"I just needed out is all," He shakes his head. "Does Clint really own this place? He's turning out to be kind of a real estate magnate." Natasha rolls her eyes and smiles.

"It's ours. He got it after I joined Shield. It's our safe house and it's also our retirement."

"Somehow I can't picture you driving a tractor in denim overalls."

"You'd be surprised, Steve. 'Sides, can't fight forever, right?" He looks away and stays quiet. What else is there to do besides fighting? It got laid out in front of him today. He can't fucking live without a war. He doesn't have what Clint and Nat have. He only has this fight and then the next one. Even if Bucky comes back to him will he be able to give this up?

"And you have a cat?"

"And I have a cat. Clint has a dog. But he stays in New York. Liho likes it here. It's a good place to come and go. And I'm here enough to make sure she's doing okay. Sometimes I take her with me wherever else I'm staying but we both like it here."

"Are you here a lot? Is this...home?" Steve asks.

"I'm here a lot more lately. I like it best of my safe houses. Maybe because it isn't just mine." Natasha dodges his second question, not unlike Steve would do. He nods thoughtfully.

"You said no matter what you do it won't erase who you've been. But you're moving forward. You obviously have plans for the future, normal good ones."

"Just because it looks normal doesn't mean it is." She chuckles a little tiredly.

"How do you do it? How can you live without, uh..." Steve swallows. He doesn't know how to phrase it but Natasha understands him regardless.

"I'm no fucking farmer, Steve. But I've been a lot of people and this is another one. Even if it doesn't work out at least I tried. I wanna be able to put it down someday, if I survive. I want _some_ peace. Maybe it doesn't last long but it doesn't _need_ to."

"I guess I don't know how to try."

"How 'bout you start with chopping some wood for us? Clint's been too fucking lazy and we need to stock up for winter. It's right outside I can show you," She smiles a devilish smile, the kind he can't say no to. He huffs a weak laugh and stands, ready to follow her out. "Oh wait. Can you put some clothes on? You'll scare the chickens."

"Chickens?" Steve almost shouts. Natasha throws her head back laughing.

"I'm fucking with you. We don't have any chickens."

* * *

Bucky shuts the T.V. off, perhaps a little too aggressively. Then he paces his small hotel room while biting his thumbnail. The obvious thing to do is _go_ and _help_ but he's worried Steve will see him. Or worse, Steve will need him. God, that dumbass. Bucky grabs the journal laying out on his bed and tucks it into his backpack. Then he slips his shoes and hat on and leaves as quickly as possible for Sokovia. He has one place in eastern Europe where he has weapons stashed that he'll stop at along the way to grab some and keep his backpack safely hidden.

When he gets to Sokovia it's absolute chaos. There are robots flying everywhere and people are screaming and running. Bucky gets knocked into a few times before he sees one of the robots getting too close to a little boy. Bucky grabs the robot with his left arm and rips it away. He has a bag slung over his shoulder with the weapons but he settles for using his hands for this one. When he's done ripping apart the robot he tells the boy to run and find safety or his fucking parents, then he apologizes for saying fuck and the boy sprints away. Bucky continues on like that, just helping people and getting them to safety. After awhile the ground starts shaking and Bucky pauses to assess why.

"Hey, you're the guy who snuck into Matt's old place," Bucky looks over at the voice and sees one of Steve's cohorts. It's Clint Barton A.K.A., Hawkeye. "That was my building, you know. Think I wouldn't notice? Love the fucking hat by the way. That real straw or what?" Bucky grumbles under his breath. Of course he knew Barton knew he was in that room. What is he, an idiot? And of course it's real fucking straw. What is he, an _idiot_? Bucky begins strolling away, in no mood for a confrontation. If Barton is here that means Steve could be close by. He walks at a normal pace knowing if he runs he might induce a chase.

"Okay, see you later, Bucky." Clint calls. Bucky scans around him looking for signs of Steve or another Avenger. Now would also be a shit time to run into someone like Romanoff. "You're a lot greasier in person. Go figure. Is that tactical or stylistic?" Bucky stops abruptly on his toes then spins around and stalks back to Clint Barton. "I mean I don't really get it either way but whatever." Clint keeps rambling. Bucky's practically nose to nose with him when he grinds out, "I'm homeless, you ass," Clint laughs then Bucky adds as an afterthought, "Don't tell Steve." Clint backs up with his hands raised, a bow clasped in one.

"That you're homeless or that we had a chat?" Clint asks and Bucky growls. "Hey, man, I didn't the first time did I?" Clint looks him directly in the eye. Bucky nods then turns away again still feeling the ground shaking beneath his feet. He continues on with his work and sees no sign of Barton or any other Avenger. He's pretty far from the city when the ground splits. He ends up on the wrong side and too far away to reach the rising earth. He _knows_ Steve is on it and blind panic runs through him on instinct. Bucky is racing to get on it but he isn't quick enough, supersoldier or not. There's falling debris everywhere and he hears the screams and cries of people getting caught under it. Bucky recalibrates his mission and steps away from the land mass. He gulps as he looks up at it, looks at the ground around him. In his assessment he almost misses the huge chunk of rock falling and rolls out of the way just in time. Unfortunately, in his mad tumble his straw hat falls off and ends up crushed under the giant rock.

"You've gotta be _fucking_ kidding me!" He yells at the rock. He hears the crackling of more earth dislodging from the rising city and sprints out of the way to get a better look. He pinpoints a handful of civilians in harms way and rushes to rip them away from the stony rain. When the dust starts to settle he will go digging for survivors. If there will be any. He glances back up at the floating earth. _You better figure this out, Steve_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knight of Noir - Susanne Sundfor  
> clintbucky rise! in this house we stan comicsclint.  
> honestly I have not seen aou in ages so i had to look at the wikipedia page to even remember the chronological plot lmao. there are literally a thousand different versions of this chapter i wanted to write/did write but none of them were sticking. i hope this is a good compromise. i didn't want Bucky and Steve to see each other yet but I also didn't love the idea of Bucky sitting back and watching Sokovia happen. so this is what happened


	29. Grenadine Sunshine, And It Fades Sublime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid of me  
> Don't be ashamed  
> Walk in the way of my soft resurrection  
> Idol of roses, iconic soul  
> I know your name  
> Lead me to war with your brilliant direction

Fall 2015

Bucky curls up on the mattress, practically delirious with exhaustion. It's been a harrowing couple of weeks. He doesn’t have a pillow yet but he’ll get one soon. It’s warm out, an Indian summer that keeps him wiping sweat off his face. Yesterday he covered the windows and moved around his meager furniture to full strategically advantage. He still isn’t sleeping through the night, he doesn’t think he ever will. 

Bucharest serves him well enough, he decided not to stray too far after Sokovia. Africa didn’t seem right anymore and America certainly didn’t. The apartment he lives in now is quaint and more than he could want. The nomadic nature has finally phased out of him and he needs a spell of stability to gather himself. Bucky’s past keeps coming back in heavy haunts. He’s filled up all but one journal, it sits next to him on the bed. He remembers now as he lays in the reddish night light that the Bucky before the train never wrote much. He didn’t keep journals. He thought about it, he liked the idea but there was never an actual opportunity for him to sit down, purchase a notebook, and write something. It’s fine that it was that way, he surmises as he drifts off, because all the stories he conjured up, all the listless poetry, it ended up out in the world anyway. Landing like moths on his lover’s skin or floating out from his mouth in tired laughs and sleepy declarations. His art was physical, whereas now it is tangible.

Now, it serves purpose, it takes hold and lets him breath for the first time in seven decades. Not only is it cathartic to write it out but it’s breathtaking to read it back. He can’t read it all, there are some things he can never lay his eyes on again, but the other gentler recollections, like the way he describes his mother’s hair and his sister’s fighting with each other, those are surely things to reminisce. 

Tonight he dreams of nothing important, no nightmares come his way. He supposes it’s because he’s starting to feel a little safer. Of the many places he's stayed this feels almost safe. He still wakes at unsatisfying intervals and finally stays awake when the morning light filters through the newspaper. It casts thick rays through the seams that illuminate the dust in the air. Bucky watches it, mesmerized by the microscopic movement. 

Then it comes, like some dam bursting, some downpour after a drought. His metal fingers curl tightly around his unwashed strands of hair and he bites his flesh hand to keep from crying out. His vision blurs as his thoughts collide clumsily together. It’s such a simple missing piece, but such a monumental one regardless.

He sits up stiffly, looking around as if the aged paper will appear before him.

He never saw it in the trunk, he never fucking saw it. 

It wasn’t in the museum.

Did he have it on him when he fell? 

Did they take it from him? 

Is it lost forever?

Panic surges through him as he tries to think through the alternatives. It’s either lost or Steve, fucking sentimental Steve, has it with him.

What will bring him back to America, for the first time in a year, is the resurgence of one of his most valuable, precious memories. That drawing, from so many years ago. That stupid sweet drawing that’s nearly as old as him. He can picture it roughly, the squiggly lines that made up the amateur portrait of his five year old self. Bucky feels the warm tears sneak out of his eyes and coat his cheeks. He used to keep it under his pillow. He used to keep it tucked in his uniform. _Oh god, it could be gone forever then._ No way the Russians, no way Hydra, would let it be, would keep it.

Bucky rolls off the mattress and whips his head left and right to figure out what he needs and doesn’t need for a trip to upstate New York. Steve is there right now, his phone tells him that. He needs to root around in Steve's room some more and if that doesn’t produce it he’ll hunt down where Steve keeps his dumb suit and tear that apart. 

* * *

The room is empty when he sneaks in at three a.m.. Steve is currently on level one looking dramatically out of a window, resting his forehead against the glass. Bucky gives him three more hours until he gets sick of that. Bucky had come in through the bedroom window (they really should seal those, anyone could break in) but he walks over on ghost quiet feet to close the door softly shut. Then he flicks on the lights and gets a good look. It’s different than it was a year ago, he doesn't know why he thought it wouldn’t be. But something tells him it isn’t all Steve's doing. He senses Romanoff's hand, especially when he gets a look at the candles on Steve's dresser next to some nicely framed pictures. One is of Sarah, a small old photograph where she smiles over her shoulder. Another is of the Avengers with an obnoxiously large signature from Tony Stark covering almost the entire picture. Bucky snickers despite himself. One is old Brooklyn. One is Peggy. And the one next to the candles looking almost like a fucking shrine, _Christ, Steve_ , is of him. His old Army photo. He rolls his eyes and turns away.

There is a single shelf above the bed, it's white and holds a dozen paperbacks. They look ravaged like the reader took them skydiving, or alternatively, read them a billion times. Bucky tiptoes closer trying to get a look at what got Steve so suddenly into literature. The titles and authors' names are unreadable from being rubbed half off on the spine. So he picks one out of the line up and examines the simple cover. He stifles a cry in his throat at the name at the bottom of the paperback. It’s Georgie’s. He sets the book gently on the bed and takes off one by one each book on the shelf, reading her name on them over and over. They’re all hers. He laughs into his gloved hand and wipes at his eyes. _They’re hers_.

He hadn’t gotten around to Georgie’s life after his death. He read through Becca’s and had a panic attack everyday for a week straight when he read that she was dead already. He kept waking up in 1930. Kept thinking she was sleeping in the next room over. Of all his sisters he had been closest with her. And now he would never see her again. Maybe it’s a blessing, she would have been old and sickly. No, fuck that, it's not a blessing. He would have loved her either way. He loves her either way and would have loved to see her, hear her pick on him. Months later when the hurt just barely numbed he looked into Ruth's life and that had left him just as torn apart. So he hadn’t made it to G yet. He wasn’t sure if she was alive so he certainly didn’t know about her career as a published author. He stares at the books in awe. He feels a swell of love and pride for his sister. She put herself out in the world, and shit she probably did it better than anyone. 

Bucky dumps his journals out on the floor and neatly, carefully, secures his sister’s books inside the empty pack. He could get his own copies instead of stealing Steve’s but he isn’t thinking that far ahead right now. When they're all packed away he opens the trunk and throws in his fourteen journals. As he suspected, it looks like Steve hasn’t given the inside a second look.

He continues on to his intended snooping around the room looking worriedly for his drawing. It's nowhere, _nowhere_. He crouches on the ground and puts his face in his hands. He tries to control his frustrated breathing when he hears footsteps approach and then stop a few feet from the door. Bucky lifts his head up to listen. It's Steve, he knows it is. He’s probably looking at his door and thinking about whether or not he closed it earlier when he left. Steve tries to take a quiet step further but Bucky hears it and shoots up and over to the window. He hovers, for a second a part of him is begging to stay. He could now, he isn’t ready but he isn’t not ready. He might never be perfectly ready. And more days and nights than ever now he feels himself missing Steve, or the memory of him at least. To lay eyes on him again, hear him speak-

On the other side of the door Bucky can hear Steve’s labored breaths, then, “Are you there? If you are...if you are, don’t run. I won’t come in if you don’t want me to. I’ll stay out here. Just please, if you need somewhere to sleep tonight...just stay here. You’re safe, Buck. Stay.” He’s tempted, he is. But no matter Steve’s assurances he is not safe. He might remember Steve but he doesn't remember how to be the same man he knew. He can't ever be that man, and it's _Steve_ who isn't ready for that. Bucky pinches the curtain between his fingers and listens to Steve suck up all the oxygen in the compound with his heavy breathing. Bucky knocks his head against the window frame in confusion and the sound spurs Steve on. “I promise I won’t come in unless you open the door. You can stay. Please just stay.” He doesn't know what does it but Bucky audibly sighs, so Steve knows he’s there and listening, then he pulls the window closed and lets his backpack slump to the floor. _Fine_. He wasn't planning on sleeping at all tonight but the fatigue weighs heavy and Steve's bed is so big with like five blankets and ten pillows stacked on it. He tears off his hoodie and pushes off his cap and unties and removes his boots, because Steve is outside and he doesn't have to worry about being ready to run. He eases himself onto the mattress, smelling Steve all over. It's new and the same all at once. He buries his nose into the pillow taking a deep breath, _You're safe, Buck_ , then passes out instantly.

* * *

Steve looks hard at the door and closes his eyes, sighs in relief when he hears the drop of something on the floor, the sound of laces being undone, the muffled thud of Bucky’s body sinking into his mattress. He even hears him take a deep breath against the soft threads of his sheets and he smiles to himself. When he's been standing for too long he slides down to the floor and rests his back against the door, staying guard and listening intently to Bucky’s breathing. He may be gone by morning but it doesn’t matter. He’s there and alive. And him being here at all means he isn’t totally against the prospect of knowing Steve again. Maybe seeing him sometime soon. He can't help the grin that cuts clear across his face.

In the late hours of the morning he’s jolted awake by the sound of Wanda’s voice and a soft kick to his leg.

“Did you sleep out here? You alright?” She asks sleepily. He looks up at her and blinks his eyes to refocus them. She is dressed in her pajamas and her hair is pulled back in an intricate braid Thor taught her how to do. She hasn't put on her usual layer of black eyeliner yet making her look every bit the young girl she is. Steve didn’t want to fall asleep last night, he wanted to stay up and keep listening to Bucky on the other side of the door. But here he is, head foggy as he slumps against his bedroom door. 

“Yeah, fine,” He supplies with a wave of the hand. “Just...had a bad dream.”

“You are lying to me.” She lifts her chin up.

“‘M not.”

“Are too.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She gives him a look she undoubtedly learned from Natasha. He groans at the familiar glare. 

“It’s nothing, just leave it be,” He stands and tunes an ear to his room. He hears nothing. His stomach sinks and he opens the door to find it empty. He assumed that Bucky would be gone without seeing him but that doesn't make the disappointment any less real. The bed had been remade, even better than Steve had it. He looks around seeing if Bucky left anything or took anything. Everything looks untouched except for the shelf above his bed that sits barren. "Oh, Buck." He smiles to himself.

"Your friend?" Wanda's voice makes Steve jump. He turns to look at her. He considers lying but he's feeling airy, weightless from the fact Bucky was _here_. He nods. "Hmm," She considers his room then considers him. "He slept here last night? You saw him?"

"No," He looks down. "The door was closed. I only heard him."

"He say anything?" She asks walking a circle around his room with folded arms.

"No." He watches her.

"And you know it was him?"

"I know it was him."

"Hmm," She hums again. "Well, Sam is making breakfast if you're going to have any."

"Okay, kid, I'll be right down." He replies with an easy smile. She turns away and walks out of sight. He does another sweep of his room, seeing if he missed anything. 

"Oh, Steve?" Wanda's voice comes again startling him out of his skin. 

"Christ," He swears looking at her in the doorway. She laughs at him, a tiny laugh. She's been doing that more lately. When she first came here she was silent, solitary, still mourning her brother. The past few weeks she's been coming out of her room for more than just training and meals. She sits with Vision. She talks to Tony and Rhodey. She plays board games with Sam. She plots with Natasha and she pulls pranks with Clint. She's letting herself be a part of this family. Steve's proud of her.

"Did he leave anything?" She asks.

"No."

"Are you so sure about that?" She cocks her head and darts her eyes around his room again. She knows something Steve doesn't.

"Why do you sound cryptic?" He asks.

"I," She hesitates, looking a little guilty. "I think I saw his dream. It was very loud."

"Wanda-"

"I know, I know," She holds up a hand. "I didn't mean to. It was just so loud. I'm working on getting better at controlling that part. It's not so easy when they get that big."

"What d'you mean?" Steve furrows his brows.

"You know when you have a dream and when you wake up you only remember little bits of it? And other nights you have dreams in great detail, and you wake up remembering every part almost like you lived it? That is how he dreams. He lives what he sees at night."

"And you saw this dream? It told you he left something here?" Steve holds himself back from taking a step towards her.

"Sort of. More like I felt it and I have a sense that part of him has stayed," She pauses a minute before continuing, like she isn't sure it's best to tell Steve what she's thinking. "He was yearning for something. In his dream. I could feel him reaching out for something. Something steady when he was not. He was shaking, I think. He never reached it though. I - I think what he wanted was people. Not one thing. It felt like many people. Big and little. Three of them. But he woke before he got to them."

"Oh," Is all Steve can say. It sounds terribly familiar to his own dreams. The longing for people so out of reach. But _three people_. Which three? Is Steve one of them? "Uh, thanks, Wanda. Thank you. But uh - don't do that. Again." He stumbles over his reprimand, he isn't focusing on her much anymore with the thought of Bucky being within reach last night, suffering alone in the dark.

Wanda offers a tight smile and slips out the door again. He stands paralyzed for a moment thinking over what Wanda said about Bucky's dream. He never cried out, Steve would have surely woken to that. He was dreaming, living through a moment, just like Steve did when he dreamt. Three people. Three. Steve glances around his room and his eyes land on the empty shelf. _Of course_ , Jesus, who else would they be? He was reaching out for his sisters. He was yearning for them, yearning for his family. Steve bites his lip hard wondering if Bucky knows yet that only G is left. Maybe he does and that's why he took the books. Steve remembers what else Wanda said, about Bucky leaving a part of himself behind.

He starts rummaging carelessly through his things, his closet, his drawers. There's literally nothing and he's starting to get really fucking frustrated. He's about to chalk this up to another one of Wanda's quirky pranks that aren't all that funny when he rams his knee into the trunk at the foot of his bed. He'd been wearing shorts so the skin is split and begins bleeding. "Shit!" he swears, clutching at the gash. His eyes land on the corner of the trunk spotting a bit of blood. He really threw his weight into this, huh?

"Shit," He swears again looking over the trunk. "God, shit. Oh my god," He races over to his dresser and fishes out the gold key to open the trunk. He fumbles a minute with the lock and curses again when the key slips out of his hand. "Relax, Steve, Jesus H. Christ." When he finally gets it he throws it open and sucks in a gulp of air at the sight. Journals are stacked next to the neatly organized mementos. Bucky, that neat fuck, came in here and reorganized it and left his countless journals behind. He's panting as he pulls them out and lays them out around him on the floor. There's no note saying not to touch them or open them but he knows his own friend. He doesn't open a single cover. He just stares at the spread around him. Some are cheap, twenty-five cent back to school notebooks. Others are leather bound and have clasps or ties. Some are covered in artful designs, one is covered in Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'. Another in Gustav Klimt's 'The Kiss'. All of them have Steve's heart pounding. He knows they're all full. Bucky is storing them here, for safe keeping.

"Okay," Steve nods. "Alright, pal. I hear you."

* * *

It's later that same day when they get a call to suit up. It's just four of them for this one, Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda. Steve hops down the steps to the storeroom, still high on finding Bucky's journals. He told Sam. Well, he told everyone at breakfast but Sam was the most enthusiastic for him. They walk down together idly chatting about the mission ahead. It's easy, nothing critical, just a weapons bust in Central America. The only reason it's the Avengers getting called in is because the dealers are enhanced individuals.

"I'm just saying man, if we could get Tony to make 'em I'd be unstoppable. A mechanical bird army?" Sam's eyes are dancing at the idea. He's been coming up with a dozen different bird themed weapons for Tony to consider.

"Just see how Redwing works for awhile. I don't wanna feel like I'm in a Hitchcock film every time we're in a firefight." Steve turns the corner and stops short. Sam bumps into his shoulder, biting back his response in favor of looking slack-jawed at the scene before them.

It's Bucky sitting cross-legged on the ground rummaging through Steve's suit. He stops when Steve and Sam round the corner and looks at them with wide eyes. It's evident on his face that he hadn't wanted to be seen and he's starting to look embarrassed, most likely because he should have heard them coming and somehow didn't.

"Uh." Bucky says, clutching the suit to his chest.

"Uh." Steve responds, because he's just as shocked as Bucky is.

"Not to be redundant but," Sam speaks. " _Uh._ "

"Right, well, I was just looking for something." Bucky mumbles not looking away from Steve. At once he feels like he's just run across an entire continent, he's short of breath and can tell Bucky is too.

"Did you find it?" Steve asks lamely.

"Does it look like I found it, Rogers?" The words are taunting but the tone is all wrong. Bucky is quiet, almost emotionless as he speaks.

"I mean, do you need help or anything?" Steve amends. He can feel Sam looking at him in the corner of his eye and he feels tense. He loves Sam, he'd die for Sam, but something about this moment screams _we need to be alone_. Sam apparently reads minds because he says, "I'm gonna leave you to it, Steve. Uh, nice seeing you again, I guess, Barnes." Bucky ignores him and keeps watching Steve. When Sam disappears Bucky opens his mouth to speak.

"Where's my picture? Of me? The drawing. I want it back." He sets the suit aside and gets to his feet. He looks so much bigger than the last time Steve saw him. Healthier, except for the dark circles under his eyes and the unwashed hair. He still hasn't cut it.

"Fuck." Steve puts his hands on his hips as he studies every inch of the man before him. He's trying not to, it's rude he knows, but Bucky is so magnetic.

"Are you done yet?" Bucky grits out. Steve snaps his eyes back up to Bucky's and sees the discomfort, but he's also looking amused. His lips almost imperceptively quirk up for a second before fixing into a frown. "I said where's my drawing? You better have it."

"Shit I do, I do," Steve nods his head rapidly. Of course Bucky would come back for that silly old thing. "It's um, in my room. No wait," Steve is thinking hard about where the drawing is actually at. He got it when the Smithsonian was collecting his things for the exhibit. It had been in storage somewhere, maybe Shield or maybe some historian's old archives. He didn't really care where it came from. They asked him if it could be used but Steve refused flat out. He brought it home, curled up on the floor with it and laid awake for hours pressing it to his cheek. After that it was too hard to look at so he tucked it away somewhere safe. He thought it was gone forever. He thought Bucky took it with him to the grave. Now, it was in- "You have it. It's in one of Georgie's books. The short stories collection."

Bucky nods and picks the suit up. Then he slowly approaches Steve like he's a wild animal and hands the suit over.

"She's a beautiful writer, Buck." Steve says because he doesn't know what else to say. Bucky has his head swimming, turning to mush at the sight of him. Bucky smells like dirt and sweat and that timeless Bucky Barnes smell he can't wipe off even after all these years.

"I'm not staying." Bucky says quickly. He's a foot away now, the closest he's been in over a year. The last time they were this close Steve was letting him punch the shit out of him.

"I know," Steve replies just as quick. "I don't expect you to. But whenever you want - whenever you're ready. You can," Bucky nods once and steps away, beginning his retreat. "But um, I don't wanna push you, fuck, I mean just. Will I be seeing you?"

"In all the old familiar places," Bucky exhales. His eyes look almost _bright_ and Steve's fill with water. "Christ Almighty, Stevie. It's only a song no need for the waterworks." Steve blinks the tears away and laughs uncomfortably.

"Shit, sorry," He grips the fabric of his suit tight to keep himself from reaching out for Bucky's hunched shoulders. He suddenly remembers as he looks at the tight coil of Bucky's body what he discovered this morning. "I found your journals."

"Oh," Bucky whispers. "You - you can read them. If you want."

"Are you sure?" Bucky only nods and ducks around the corner. Steve goes over and looks around it, but he doesn't see Bucky. _How does he do that?_ Then he looks up at the rafters in the ceiling, because this is something Natasha likes to do with her exits. He can just barely make out Bucky's form behind the lights inching swiftly away. Steve bites his lip to keep the manic laugh from spilling out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bel Air - Lana Del Rey
> 
> hehehehe


	30. Fall In Fall Out Fall Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first of light  
> Past the Noachide  
> Bodies wrapped in white

December 2015

Steve doesn't read through them immediately, he can't. It takes months for him to finally get around to it. It's being busy but it's mostly fear that keeps him from opening the first journal until two days before Christmas. There's no mission to hide behind. He has no excuse.

Inside, some of the journals are absolute nonsense, scribbles. There are pictures and newspaper clippings and receipts taped and glued into others. Then there are the ones with horrific accounts of violence that leave him clutching the toilet and screaming into his hands. They read like mission reports, no humanity in Bucky's words whatsoever. Incredibly, some journals contain lovely recollections of his family, of Brooklyn, of _Steve_. He drinks in Bucky's words, who alternates between being short and precise to writing lengthy, flowery descriptions not unlike some of Georgie's work. The difference is that she was always angry, where Bucky is lively but tired beyond belief.

Steve shifts from his spot on the cold tile of his bathroom and stumbles out into his room, throws himself tiredly over top his bed. He's gotten through thirteen journals and right now he's gearing up to read through the one that has neon butterflies on the cover. Steve stares at it for the longest time when he picks it up. It's definitely one of the uglier things Steve's ever seen but if Bucky picked it out then maybe it will get better the longer he looks at it. Steve traces a finger over a pink butterfly and huffs an irritated breath. Nope. It's not getting any less ugly. He opens it up hoping what Bucky has written is better than the abomination on the cover.

_Becca used to do a funny thing with her nose when she was cooking with Mama. She'd crinkle it up and then if she saw me watching she'd cross her eyes. Sometimes I thought she was the older sibling, the way she teased and tormented me. I still can't remember the other two girls' names._

* * *

_It was rare, amidst the shittyness of the table, but sometimes they made me feel so high. I floated through the bars and boardwalks and sunsets and midnight climaxes of our makeshift youth, I was still getting to you, Steve. Thinking of you. Far off my head and goddamn clear out of my mind but the parts of me that mattered were still calling out for you. You know something, sweetheart? I felt you calling out back. I could feel it, I swear on Christ. I could feel your ache from a universe away. Could you feel mine?_

* * *

_When I was fourteen I lost my virginity to a girl named Sam. All and all, not worth remembering. When I was fifteen I kissed a boy that wasn't Steve behind the school. He beat on me afterwards and when I saw Steve I told him he must be rubbing off on me because I had got in a fight defending a stray dog's honor. I didn't show him but my ribs were bruised for two weeks._

* * *

_Her name is Ruth._

* * *

_I wish I could go back under. I wish I could freeze over. I wish I was dead. I used to sigh in relief when they shoved me back into that tank. It was my only salvation. My heaven sent savior._

* * *

_Hydra can go suck a fucking dick. I've been trying to remember how to make my mother's stew for THREE weeks now. Fuck!!!!!!!_

* * *

_There was a field. Not my field. There was a cliff. She told me in the mornings there was mist. She liked to walk towards it, tease her fingertips against it. She told me she wanted to walk into it and let it take her somewhere but if she did she'd fall to her death. Not that it would have been worse than the life she had there. She never told her son, I know that. It was our secret, one we both died with._

* * *

_Georgiana Barnes talked in her sleep. Ruth used to tease her relentlessly for it. They fought all the fucking time, Christ._

* * *

_I can't help thinking that maybe I was dead before. That maybe those days of tiptoeing across wooden boards and slipping quietly under wrinkled sheets would have been rootless and untouchable without you. That maybe I wouldn't have been alive until you breathed all your love into my mouth and took me until we both ran out of air._

_But maybe it's even simpler than that._

_Maybe I can just say I only know I was alive all those years because of your bright eyes and warm arms. I knew what life was the minute we met. And just as equal, I knew what death was when they told me you were gone. And thinking of that deadly minute of losing you makes me throw hands out into the world with stretching and curling fingers. Just begging to grab onto a day, an hour, a goddamn fucking minute of me and you laughing in Brooklyn._

_I'm thinking now, of all the dance halls we never danced in. All the melodies of Glenn Miller you never held my waist to. The too-loud-but-not-loud-enough bands that we've never heard play all the way into the next sunrise. I'm thinking, these days, of all the boardwalks we've never raced down. Never swung our legs over the sides letting salty waves tickle our toes._

_Sometimes I wish for those months before any war. Where we were quiet and together and in love like children. Like little boys love each other before they get told not to. Now all this love tips me over, burns so hot my skin feels all wrong. But fuck, I like the burn anyway._

_Still, there was a sweetness in those days of jazz by the water. Sitting up at midnight looking over at each other asking what the fuck were we doing? Lying in sweat and breathlessness and amazement that we pushed this far. I guess, to our credit, we've always been just as dangerous in that way. Always reaching for the other when we know we shouldn't, when we know it's wrong._

_I keep on wondering, when I'm laying awake, about you and me and some far off slow tune that if you aren't careful will remind you of home so you better not listen too close. I keep thinking of running my lips over your cheekbones. I keep thinking of your mussed up hair falling over your forehead and me pushing it back feeling that light sheen of after sex sweat on your brow._

_I loved that._

_I love that. The way your body glows. The why it got glowing in the first place. Even in all our Nevers that's a single truth I can't thank God enough for. And maybe some catholic sisters we used to know back when we were young would tell us that it's ten kinds of all wrong, that if anything I should be thanking the devil himself for a lover like you. But they'd never say that. Just hit our wrists red and purse their thin cracked lips._

_So it really is you and me, isn't it? We've got each other. And yeah we had that goddamn war too. And maybe even now we have another one. But I don't mind if you don't because you're still the guy I picture sleeping next to every night. I told myself in those days that I could kill if it was for you. I could bury myself if it was so you could become unearthed again. I could rip out my own bones one by one if it meant fixing your broken ones. I would have done it all for you, darling. I would have died from fire and bullets and Jesus, I did die in the end. But I only ever did it for you. I've only ever done it all for you._

_So let me have this. Let me think on it. Let me remember what it was like in those late, late warm red nights of champagne bubbles and trumpets. Let me have those lost memories of shoes scuffing on a dance floor. Let me ache at the thought of us, of you and me, laughing in dance halls we never danced in._

* * *

_I ate a banana today and now I know I hate them!_

* * *

_I figured out how to track Steve today, take that you obsessive motherfucker._

* * *

_More and more lately I'm remembering all the fucking women I slept with. Jesus, you'd think after how shitty the first time was I'd know better. The only time it was ever good was when Steve was still there. Yeah, that's a good memory. Bucky really was sexually ambitious with that one. That Peggy Carter, Jesus. Steve has good taste in women I'll give him that._

* * *

_My mother died before me. I was young, I think, but not a boy. I can't remember when my father died. Did he outlive me? I'm too afraid to look it up. I read about Becca two weeks ago. I missed her whole life. I missed her babies. I missed everything. I wish I could have held her daughter in my arms, so tiny and pink. I wish I could have had Thanksgiving with her and her family through the years. I wish I could have taken my nieces to Coney Island. Me and Steve would have been good uncles. We'd take them everywhere, give them everything. Becca would get mad at me in that funny way she did. She'd call me James Buchanan and roll her eyes. When she was little she used to kick me in the shins all the fucking time. I remember that clear as day. Ain't no way I could forget that._

* * *

_I killed my friend. I didn't know it then. Now I do. I remember him during the war, loud and smart. His son is a lot like him I hear. Steve would know. I never told Steve but Howard kissed me once in London. He wasn't even drunk. I remember him leaning in smelling like metal and something sweet, like vanilla. I don't know where Steve was, maybe off with Phillips or Carter. But I was testing something, like a gun or a knife or something. We were all alone looking at a target. Yes, it was a gun he made me test. We were looking at the bullet holes, dead center by the way, and then he bumped his shoulder against mine. So I looked up at him and I think I must have smiled because he leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. Wasn't bad, but wasn't Steve. I didn't pull away, instead I pushed back, opened my mouth because I was still mad at Steve for something or other. He might have kissed someone else? I can't remember but I let Howard jam his tongue down my throat. So yeah, I kissed him and killed him. How about that?_

* * *

_Romanoff was a lover. I remembered her voice first. What she sounds like when she whispers. When she laughs. When she screams. I hope she doesn't tell Steve we fucked. I feel like that's awkward. Is it awkward? I don't know. I wasn't all there when we did it. Couldn't remember how much I didn't care for women so I fucked her. Seemed right at the time. I do like her though. Hell of a fighter. Hell of a woman._

* * *

_My shoulder HURTS. It fucking aches. I want it off. I want it off. I want it off._

* * *

_I used to sing. All the time. At work, at home, to myself, for Steve. Does he remember that? I bet he does. I loved singing. I loved music. I still do. A girl in Brazil showed me how to put music on my phone. She was nice. The music is nice. I try to listen to a new song once a week. This week I learned what hip hop is. I think I miss singing, I think I miss dancing too._

* * *

_What did I do? What did I do? Why did this happen to me? What did I do wrong? Is it sin? Was it loving him? Was it the killing in the war? What did I do?_

* * *

_Steve's father came home from the bar at four-thirty in the afternoon and saw Sarah sitting at the table. She was drinking ginger tea, she told me, and she was five months pregnant. Steve's father pulled her out of the chair by her hair and threw her into the nearest wall. She asked him over and over why he was doing it but he never said. He was drunk, like he always was. When she lay defenseless on the floor he kicked her in the stomach, the face, at her legs and knees, anywhere he could reach. He beat her until she passed out and the next day he kissed her goodbye before he went to the bar again. She lost the baby. Steve's brother died. So, that's why she came to America, so Steve's father would not kill him._

Steve has to stop then. It's fury, strong and fiery, that courses through him as he throws the journal across the room. Fists shaking and skin burning. His vision goes hot white, the rage blinding him. _That's his mother_. Steve jumps from his bed and paces until he can see clearly again. He wants to scream. He wants to hit something, hurt somebody. Hurt the man who laid a finger on his ma.

Steve storms out of his room and through the compound. It's quiet, hardly anyone around during the holiday. Natasha and Clint escaped to the farm with their animals, they invited Steve but he politely refused. Sam is with his mother and his sister. Steve forgets that he has a family, a real family, outside of the Avengers. Sam invited him to that too but he declined. Vision and Wanda are here roaming like ghosts through the halls. He stayed for them, not being able to sit with the fact they'd be here alone. Even Tony isn't coming around, instead staying with Pepper in the city. It's best that way - as it should be. Still, it's Vision's first Christmas but Steve can't seem to find enough cheer to make it a good one. And it's Wanda's first Christmas without her brother. She is the last of her family, surviving them by a miracle. Steve feels her misery.

Steve slams through the doors of the gym and does a turn about the area until he zeroes in on the punching bag. Half a dozen are stacked next to the wall, ready to be torn through when Steve destroys this one. He goes at it immediately, not bothering with wrapping his hands, not bothering with stifling his anguished cries and shouts. All these years, all these fucking years he had a twisted idea of the kind of righteous and selfless man his father was. The bag pops at the seams, revealing the inside and Steve unhooks it and throws it behind him. Another bag is set up and he continues, knuckles splitting open with blood. More than finding out that his father was no hero, he had the nerve to beat his mother, his mother who gave Steve gentle smiles and touches and all but handed him the world when she tucked him in at night. That's what makes him angriest, not that he comes from an abusive piece of shit, but because someone ripped his mother's heart out and made her fear for her life and his. He screams in pain as another punch puts the second bag out of use. He replaces it without a blink. He goes on like this, cutting his knuckles down to the bone and trapping himself in the echoes of his cries reverberating off the gym walls. He devastates every single bag and when there is nothing left to destroy he moves on to the next station. He goes through everything, leaving disastrous ruins in his wake. His rampage has him dripping sweat and blood but not tears. He hasn't broken down yet, hasn't let it wash over his skin and drown him in the weight of the revelation.

Worse still, is realizing that Bucky had known. He had known all this time. Had looked Steve in the eye and lied to him. He's furious about the lies and he's mad that Bucky carried his mother's secrets when it should have been Steve's burden to bear. He throws one last weight clear across the room, plunging it through the thick metal wall.

As it is, Steve can feel nothing but violent outrage and it shows with the state he leaves the gym in. Tomorrow, he will clean up. Now, he needs air. He backs up, analyzing with growing awareness the storm he ensued on the innocent gym. It's terrifying, he realizes, the extent of his outburst.

 _Was this what his father was like?_ Steve lets out a strangled noise as the thought hits him.

At the same unsteady pace as he raced to the gym with he gets to the nearest exit and pushes through. It's snowing, _of course_ , and he drops into the icy mush, choking on his breath.

"Fuck, Ma." Steve whimpers as the snow soaks into his pants. He leans forward, sticking his hands into the white mounds. He can barely feel it sting. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can register the physical pain he's in but presently he's only entertaining the oncoming panic attack. He throws snow it his face, trying to cool the searing heat radiating from him. He's starting to feel lightheaded and eventually he has to lay down, face buried in the snow.

"Steven," Her voice sounds through the empty winter air. Steve picks his head up and cranes his neck around to see her coming from inside the compound. She looks young, as he pictures her from his childhood. She wears a light pink blouse with a white skirt. Her church outfit, her favorite outfit. "You'll catch your death out here, sunshine boy. Come inside." She nods her head to the door but he can do nothing but stare. He turns his body and plops his ass in the snow getting a better look at her fair skin and perfectly curled blonde hair. His entire front is numbed and wet and he's vaguely starting to feel the discomfort.

"Ma," Steve pants. He wants to get to his feet and reach out for her. He wants to let her sweep him up in her thin arms and hold him tight until the hurt stops fucking hurting. "Ma, I need you. I miss you." She smiles at him, slow and sweet, warming him up from where he sits.

"What are you still doing sitting there, dear? Get up and get inside. I've got soup waiting on the stove for us." She takes a few steps towards him, a hand reaching out to brush his jaw and lift his chin. He shudders and his eyes flit close in response. When he opens them he has the words _I love you_ on his lips but they die when Sarah is no longer there. He gulps on the frigid breeze and searches dazedly around him for any sign of her.

But she is gone, long dead. And Steve is left in the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hinnom TX - Bon Iver
> 
> 30 chapters?????? Oof


	31. I Need Someone To Put This Weight On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just sayin', you could do better  
> Tell me have you heard that lately  
> I'm just sayin' you could do better  
> And I'll start hatin', only if you make me

April 2016

Bucky chews absently on the granola bar, it's chocolate chip, and stares up at the ceiling from his spot on the mattress. He has his headphones in, a purchase he made last week at the urging of a couple he ran into at the market. He had seen a man with bright green ones in and asked his friend, who turned out to be his boyfriend, where he got them. They proceeded to talk with him for over twenty minutes about the headphones and how had Bucky _never used headphones before? They're the only thing in this world I love more than him_ , the man with the green headphones, then slung around his neck, nodded his head at his boyfriend. Bucky smiled brightly at them and followed their instructions on where to go and what kind to buy. It's true he never used headphones before. He figured an earpiece that linked him to his handlers wasn't the same.

After some tactical deliberation he came to the conclusion that he liked listening to music like this. Nothing beats a live band in a dark bar on a hot summer night, but this is good too. He's trying to find all the good things in the future. Being surrounded by music and nothing else is definitely one of those good things.

The music comes in loudly and he shakes his head side to side to the beat.

_All my girls get down on the floor (Oh shit!)_

_Back to back, drop it down real low (Oh shit!)_

_I'm such a lady but I'm dancin' like a ho (Oh shit!)_

_'Cause you know I don't give a fuck, so here we go! (Oh shit!)_

Bucky smiles around his mouthful of granola and taps a finger to the chorus.

_How come every time you come around my London London Bridge wanna go down like London London London, wanna go down like London London London, we goin' down like_

Bucky finishes off the granola bar and sings along under his breath for the rest of the song. No one does music like the twentieth century, especially where he came from, but _no one_ does music like the twenty-first century. At first, Bucky found it a little difficult to bear. But he'd always liked music and this was a part of his reintroduction into society. He didn't always and forever want to feel like an outlier, an alien. Certain songs were abhorrent and he vowed to never listen to them again but other ones, like the American pop of the 2000's, that's a genre he appreciates. He found that he actually enjoyed most of the music throughout the decades he missed. Last month he went through an ABBA phase. The month before that it was Fleetwood Mac. This month it seemed to be pop hits. Through every studious moment spent listening to music Bucky made sure to write down the ones he especially liked and especially thought Steve needed to hear. He knew how to make playlists, he had a couple dozen, but he liked the idea of handing the paper with all his favorite songs over to Steve. Before the war Steve had known which ones were his favorite based on how often Bucky repeated the lyrics over and over. And if in the mood, Steve would ask him to sing them while they sat together on the couch or at the table or on the fire escape. Now, Steve wouldn't have a clue about Bucky's preferences.

Bucky made a playlist for Steve, not of his favorites, but songs that reminded him of Steve. He sent him an anonymous link through his messaging app. Steve responded three hours later with a "who r u?". Bucky smiled at the letters and never replied. Of course Steve didn't type in full sentences. What a punk. For a full two weeks after he sent the link Steve kept trying to text him looking for answers. More of the same "whats ur name?" and "do i kno u?" but Bucky never broke and responded. That was a floodgate that did not needed opened. Not yet. Still, Bucky had the idea that Steve knew it was him.

It's been a few months since he saw him that day he came to retrieve his drawing (which is carefully tucked into the pocket of his jacket, he never keeps it off his person). He filled up his last journal and had to buy new ones, this time a modest ten from a nearby shop. They weren't as pretty or expensive as the ones from the Barnes & Noble but they were efficient. He's getting better at sorting things out and keeping them organized. He even bought sticky tabs to separate the different sections and highlighters to mark important details.

He read through all of G's books, saw the writing in the margins that wasn't Steve's so it had to be Becca or Ruth. He's assuming Becca. Ruth was never much of a reader. The books and stories are incredible, beautiful, reverent. He reads about himself in some parts and pieces. It's always a masked version of him, never an outright description defining exactly who he is. Her version of him is written in the strangest outside perception but all if it is true. It all hits the mark. He and G were never as close as they could have been. She was so much younger than him but she must have paid damn good attention to when he was alive because she paints him in every dangerously vibrant shade he tried to grey out. She recovers his brutal innocence, his sense of love, and all his sweetest parts. It brings bile to his mouth but he pushes on even when her idyllic vision is too kind about him. It's poetic if nothing else. But she always manages to swing back around and write the bad parts too. All his flaws and insecurities, even some of his fears. She must have been projecting for a lot of the details she wrote because there's no way she could have known half the things that made Bucky _Bucky_. In her one short story, the one his drawing had been tucked into, she captured the heat of his love too. He was in a cafe the first time he read through it, gasping aloud at the nakedness of his biggest secret. He got looks from a few people around him but he ignored them and burrowed deeper into the words. Anyone in the world could read that story and understand who it's really about. The whole world has the evidence here to incriminate him for his depravity.

But the world is different now, he has to remind himself. He has done no wrong and Georgie understood that before he did. Becca did too. And he's betting Ruth was right there with them.

The couple he met at the market had solidified that for him. A weight had been lifted off Bucky when he saw it out in the open rather than reading about it. It was incredible, unbelievable. He'd been hiding for years, his whole goddamn life. He had been berating himself at every turn for his choices and for dragging Steve into his sin. But life wasn't like that, not anymore. He could love him freely and openly. And the world could go fuck itself if it had shit to say about him.

He's been thinking, lately, about kissing Steve. The memories have been back for a while, the feelings attached to them more recent. He can lay awake now and imagine it. He can imagine them meeting again. All the words they might say and smiles they might exchange. Bucky is so close to coming back to him. He just needs a bit more time. He still feels like a threat and the way the governments and media of the world had been treating the Avengers lately he thought it a bad time to throw himself into the mix. Maybe that's a selfish excuse made to disguise his fear, but he clings to it regardless.

His playlist recycles back to the song he started with so he takes the headphones out and sets them aside. He has a particular errand to run today so he sits up and stretches, rolling his neck and shoulders.

In 2014 when his shit life went from one kind of shit to a different kind of shit he carried a few relatively hazy memories of certain people. Steve was obviously number one. His family floated around his head, mostly nameless, but he could picture their faces. They had felt so far away from him, almost like they existed in a movie he saw and not his actual life. The only thing that tipped him off to the fact that that couldn't be right was that he dreamed of them in color. So his mother's grey eyes had been real. His sister's freckles a sure thing. He also remembered a woman, donned in military dress and adorned with a halting smile. Her name revealed when he went to the Smithsonian for answers.

He had seen her twice since his release from Hydra. Both times she startled at his presence. Then her frail body eased and she reached out for him fondly. _Bucky Barnes_ , she whispered in the quiet of the room, _finally come to see me after all this time? I've been waiting to see that handsome face of yours_. She spoke to him like the year was 1944. Then the next second she repeated her first greeting. He didn't really understand most of the things she said to him, the memories she regaled of days he couldn't remember living. But they were kindred spirits in that regard. It was frustrating at moments but mostly it was melancholic and left Bucky feeling empty.

The second time was better. He hadn't been as scared or unsure. He saw her and spoke first, his hands steady at his sides. _Oh, Pegs. You're looking as beautiful as ever_. He knew with no doubt then, who she was. They talked into the night, going over and over the same pleasantries and in between that Peggy revealing details of her life and work. She would ask him about his life as well and he would tell the truth. If he could not bear his transgressions and tragedy to her then who else? She did not weep for him, merely tightened her grip on his flesh hand and leveled him with a look so full of love he felt knocked sideways. She had also told him about Howard that night and when he left and found somewhere outside of D.C. to sleep he had dreamt of bashing his face in and dropping kisses like syrup in between the blows. He woke up hearing the tremble of Howard's voice over and over. _Sergeant Barnes?_

Today he was going to visit Peggy Carter again. After the fall of Shield and the aftermath of D.C. her family moved her back to London where she could be close to where she came from. It turns out her oldest had moved to England in the eighties and when the world watched Steve Rogers dismantle a government agency the decision was made. Bucky can't imagine Peggy went quietly but maybe she was ready. She's only getting older and sicker.

Bucky showers, actually washing his hair with real shampoo, and shaves his three day old scruff. He trims the ends of his hair so they aren't resting below his shoulders. Maybe when he gets to London he'll pull it back and off his neck. For now, he likes the cover. He wears his usual three layers topped with his best black zip up and his plain cap. He grabs his backpack and heads out the door.

* * *

Peggy's daughter is in her early sixties. She has brown hair with silver streaks that go past her shoulders and waves slightly at the ends. She looks a great deal like Peggy and the way she carries herself is even more telling. Make no mistake, Margaret Carter raised a woman to be reckoned with. Pegs' daughter is married with one child, all grown up and out of the house, and lives just outside the city at a lovely four bedroom house. It's a light green and its garden is large and near suffocating. Bucky waits for Pegs' girl and her husband to file out for work, leaving Peggy and her nurse alone. It's a warm spring day so he watches from the shadows as the nurse wheels Peggy into the garden. She stops her by a bushel of blue things that have bees buzzing in and around them. Peggy tugs her blanket tighter and smiles at the bees. The nurse sits down on one of the small chairs around a bistro table and takes in the sunshine by lifting his face to the sky.

"Gorgeous day, eh?" The nurse sighs and looks at Peggy with a friendly smile.

"Yes, it really is. I've just about had it with winter." Peggy gripes back. The nurse laughs.

"I think we all have. Do you want me to get anything for you?" He asks and she shakes her head. She inclines her chin in the direction of Bucky's hideout behind a particularly abundant bush and changes her mind.

"Actually, why don't you fix me something other than those terrible sandwiches she keeps feeding me," Peggy laughs at her dig at her own daughter and watches her nurse slip into the house. There's a second of silence before, "Has anyone ever told you what a terrible spy you are?" Bucky climbs out from behind the geraniums and beams at her.

"No, actually. It's sorta one of my better skills. But thanks for keeping me humble, darling." Bucky comes over and takes the nurse's empty seat. She sends him that powerful smile and he feels a wave of nostalgia crash over his tired body. For a second he can smell cigarette smoke and hear the faint drum of a Benny Goodman tune.

"It's been a bit since you've come to see me. How are you doing, dear?" She tilts her head, letting her loosely waved grey hair shift. She looks significantly worse since the last time Bucky saw her. He swallows thickly.

"I'm better. I really am," He nods, even giving her an honest smile. It's small but he means it and that's enough. "Will your nurse be upset if I stick around? I didn't exactly announce myself." The last thing he needs is to be arrested for having tea with his old friend.

"Oh," She waves a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that fool. He means well but he's a little clueless. I'll just tell him to find some pill bottles to reorganize when he comes back." He nods with an amused smile. He's _missed_ her. He tells her so.

"Oh my darling," She squints a soft gaze over at him. "How I've missed you too. I do wish you'd come around more often. You and Steve. You both like running. A dangerous habit."

"He hasn't been around?" Bucky asks. He would have thought Steve would make a bit more of an effort for Peggy.

"A couple times. But it's hard for him, I know. He has dinner with me and helps me to bed but he can't stay for too long. Less now that I'm in London," She looks away from him focusing on her own words, probably dredging up a picture of Steve bringing her water in bed. Bucky bites his lip as he imagines it himself. "Have you seen Steve yet?"

"I may have run into him. But I didn't stick around. We didn't speak much. Didn't want to." He lets the words out in an anxious exhale. His gaze lingers on some yellow buds to his right while Peggy sighs.

"He's hurting, you know."

"So am I."

"He needs you as much as you need him." Bucky scoffs in response.

"How do you know that? He's been doing fine since 2011. He's got new friends who look after him. Maybe I'm too much of a mess, a fucking headcase, and he just hasn't realized it yet." It's utterly true, he realizes as he says it, Steve has been _fine_ as far as Bucky was concerned. Just like that day they arrived back at base after Azzano. That sinking feeling hits him all over again that Steve doesn't actually need him. Even if he does need Bucky in some small way, Bucky can't be there to help him.

"Fine?" She laughs at him. "Were _you_ fine?"

"Obviously not or I'd already be up Steve's ass."

"Precisely, so-"

"I'm just," He cuts her off and then winces as he realizes what he did. He peaks a glance up at her and sees the neutral expression so he takes that as a cue to continue unharmed. "I'm not the fucking same. I'm not _him_ and I know that's exactly who he wants me to be. I'm not that man."

"When Steve's mother died was he the same?" Peggy cocks her head to the side and it's the same damn movement that caught his eye during the war.

"What?" He asks dumbly.

"Did he stay the same?"

"No, but he didn't change that much. Still a dumbass." He shrugs a single shoulder.

"Was he the same after your parents both died?" She continues. "Or when the war came and you both shipped off? Was he the same after training camp? Was he the same after Azzano? I can assure you he wasn't after that train in the Alps. And he wasn't the same when he woke up in this new world. I know you've changed a great deal and that you will never be the same. But neither will he. He isn't the Steve you've been harboring in your mind, trying to hold on to as you move forward. We've all changed, my darling."

"Yeah." He says to his hands.

"And, Bucky, you are the only man alive who sees Steve as he is. You're the only one who understands that, just like you, he will never be the same man again." Peggy adds. He looks up at her brown eyes cocooned in wrinkles and seventy years of too many secrets. He makes to respond with more deflection but a voice cuts him off.

"Who are you?" The nurse returns with Peggy's lunch. It's strawberry salad. Bucky tenses at his confused stare and prepares to bolt.

"A visitor. Won't you leave us?" Peggy hardly looks at him.

"Now, Peg-" His tone is creeping dangerously close to being patronizing and Bucky is about to switch tactics from running to calling him out. Peggy cuts the nurse off.

"Oh please let me catch up with my dear friend while an old woman can." She reaches out for her food and waves him away after she gets it. The nurse lingers then throws over a _you press your button if you need help_ before slipping inside the house. Bucky can see him peering at them through the curtains. He assumes any moment now he'll be on the phone with Peggy's daughter alerting her to the unidentified stranger in the garden.

"Oh!" Peggy brightens up at Bucky. "You've come to see me again? Well it's about time I was just telling your better half last week that I haven't seen you in ages. I was getting lonely. Steve makes good company but he can get so quiet. And especially these days. It's as if he's the one who is dying and not me." She gathers some salad on her fork and takes a shaky bite. He watches a rogue leaf drop from her mouth.

"He's always been a dramatic son of a bitch, you know that." He smiles as if their earlier conversation never happened. He clears his throat to rid his body of the choked off tension and looks lazily around him. "Your girl's got one hell of a garden, Pegs. She do this all herself?" Peggy throws her head back with a laugh.

"That girl couldn't take care of a cactus. This is all Robert's doing. He's got quite the green thumb," She gestures her fork at the nearest plant. "These here. I love these."

"They're beautiful." He agrees not sparing a glance away from her warm face. His eyes cast themselves over every inch of her, committing her presence to memory. This, he won't let himself forget. Time has always seemed to slip through his fingers and now it is no different. Peggy Carter sits across from him in the last days of her life. He can see it in the fade of her eyes, in the rasp of her voice, and in the tremor of her wrinkled hands. Like the roses on the bottom of a bush, she is wilting under the weight and the dark. He feels something akin to the feeling he got the last night he saw his mother.

"I'd be happy, I think, to die right here. With the honeybees and the delphiniums." She lets her eyes close, her salad forgotten. After a few silent minutes he rises to take the bowl from her lap and set it on the round table. He hikes up the knit blanket and kisses her cheek. Finally, with reluctance, he tears his eyes away and gets a look at the flowers she pointed out. The _delphiniums_. They're bright and striking, a bold blue in the chill of the spring day.

He remembers with bubbling clarity the words G used to liken his sorry love story to one of these flowers savored in the pinch between pages. He kneels down and runs his hand along the stems and the petals, taking in all the smells around him. It's floral but it's also dirt and smoke from some neighbor's chimney and the smell of Peggy's clean clothes. He nudges a nose against a bundle of blooms and feels the light coolness. They're the softest thing he's touched in a long time.

"Bucky Barnes, is that you?" Bucky looks back up at Peggy, grin ready on his face. She fixes him with a breathtaking smile. "It's been absolute ages, my darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvin's Room - Drake
> 
> Bucky is listening to London Bridge by Fergie! My favorite headcanon about Bucky is that he is fucking weird in the future and gravitates towards things you would never expect from 40s Bucky. I am Fergie-loving-Bucky's number one fan.
> 
> Sorry it took forever to update but ive been crazy busy with getting ready for school and moving into my apartment. Classes start next week so updates are hopefully coming once a week but if not then thats my excuse. I'm going to try really hard not to leave you guys hanging! 
> 
> comments and kudos make my heart soar<3
> 
> As is the case in my story I will be skipping over main conflict/big scenes in the movies. My goal is more to write out hidden moments and assume that if you're reading then you've seen the movies and can build around that. I don't need to rewrite what we already know. That said, the next chapter will take place after the bombing of the UN and Steve finding Bucky in Romania.


	32. My One Heart Hurt Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There'll be no rest for the wicked  
> There's no song for the choir  
> There's no hope for the weary  
> You let them win without a fight  
> I let my good one down  
> I let my true love die  
> I had his heart but I broke it every time

May 2016

The sun is out and Steve is starting to sweat. He's both overheating and getting nervous. They have a plan now but he's still on edge with the silence rolling off of Bucky. Steve wants to talk to him, wants to reach out for him but he knows it's too much. Instead he gives Bucky as much distance his starved heart can offer. That means only brushing against him a measly three times on their way over here.

Steve deliberates with Sam over which vehicle is the better one to borrow. They're in a parking garage near to where the warehouse they stowed away in is. They're arguing over whether to take a bug or a family van. Sam is pulling for the van but Steve is sure the bug is better cover. They'll fit in it just fine. Bucky hangs back a few feet away, quiet as ever. He hasn't said more than a word since they talked in the warehouse and it doesn't seem like he's up for more anytime soon.

"C'mon," Sam sighs as Steve approaches the smaller car. "Burly Bucky over here is gonna take up half the room in there. And you, you're gonna take up the other half. You want me to shove myself into the trunk? Strap myself to the roof, Steven? Because these are your options right now. Want me on the roof?" Steve rolls his eyes and gets the door unlocked. He opens it and takes a look at the inside.

"There's plenty of space in here, Sammy," Steve waves a hand at the inside. "Just get in." Sam grumbles as he makes his way to the passenger seat. That leaves the back for Bucky who looks neither relieved nor bothered at the fact. Steve steps out of his way so Bucky can climb in but before he does a metal finger curls around Steve's pinky.

"I heard about Peggy," Bucky says keeping his gaze to the ground. "'M sorry." Steve nods and keeps his eyes on where their fingers stay hooked around each other.

"I called her a few days ago and she said you had been there. Said she loved seeing you," Steve takes a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm glad you got to see her before..." He trails off. Bucky rolls a shoulder in what must be a shrug and takes his finger away. Without another word he clamors into the back of the bug and Steve takes his place behind the wheel. It's quiet as he starts the car until he realizes he owes Bucky the same words. "I'm sorry too, Bucky." Briefly their eyes meet in the mirror before Bucky bites his lip and turns away. Steve loved Peggy enormously but so did Bucky. She and him always got on in a way unlike Steve had.

When the quiet goes on too long Sam starts rummaging through the compartments. He stops when he finds a cord and goes to plug it in.

"What is that? Don't you know it's rude to go through people's things?" Steve glances between the cord and the road.

"Man, we stole their damn car, we've passed rude. 'Sides, I'm not sitting in here any longer with you two without some music playing." Sam plugs the other end pf the cord into his phone and begins searching through his music.

"Before you do that can you call Sharon?" Steve asks, his voice a little quieter.

"Who's that?" Bucky perks up.

"A friend. I need her to get our gear to us." Steve replies evenly.

"Right," Bucky nods. "Can't save the world without tights."

"I don't wear tights anymore, asshole." Steve glares back at him but it's fond around the edges.

"You should," Bucky knees the back of his seat. "She bringing me anything?"

"She can. What do you want? We can get weapons later but what do you wanna wear?" Steve asks.

"I don't know," Bucky thinks a minute. "A jacket? Black? Something practical. I don't wanna look like you."

"Yeah," Steve agrees even though he doesn't have to. "You look good in black." Then he sucks in a breath because he's not sure how that sounds or if it's too soon to say it and Sam is watching him again with those eyes of second hand embarrassment.

"I know." Is all Bucky says still looking out the window. Steve is blushing by the time Sam tells him he's texting Sharon instead of calling, then he starts his music. Steve has sat through hours upon hours of Sam's music with no salvation from Nat who, oddly, has the same music taste as Sam. Mostly it's really good and Steve likes it but over time Sam has discovered every song Steve despises and created a playlist dedicated to Steve's Most Hated Hits. He's playing it now with a smug look.

"I hate this song." Steve grumbles at the same time Bucky pipes up from the back, "I love this song." Steve gives him a disgusted look through the mirror and Bucky ignores him, mouthing the words. Steve sees Sam narrow his eyes at Bucky through the rearview but Bucky doesn't look back. Sam changes the song right before the chorus getting Bucky to finally look back at Sam with an irritated stare.

"Oh?" Bucky digs his right knee into Sam's seat but Sam just sniffs and looks away. Steve refocuses on the road to stop himself from smiling.

When they get to the rendezvous point Steve gets out to greet Sharon at the back of her car and gather their gear. He thinks he does a polite job but when he gets back in the bug Bucky is leaning forward between the seats, face close to Steve's.

"Yeah?" Bucky prompts, sounding minutely annoyed but his voice is still that low emotionless tone he had all those months ago at the Avengers facility. Steve takes a deep breath.

"What?" He almost snaps as he puts the car in drive.

"You know what." Bucky answers back.

"No, I don't. Why don't you spell it out for me?" He doesn't know why he's so quickly aggravated by Bucky's tone. He thinks maybe it's because it's so damn familiar. It's the same tone he took with him when Steve quit another job, or came home with a busted nose, or refused to go out with Bucky to the hall. Bucky is _bothered_.

"Love to," Bucky keeps his proximity as they drive away. Steve isn't looking at him but he can feel Bucky's warm little huffs of air hit his cheek. "You like her, am I right? You have a thing for her?"

"Oh boy." Sam mumbles.

"I do not-" Steve begins before Bucky cuts him off.

"Oh yes you do. I saw that. I saw that smile. I got brain damage but I fucking know that look. Did you sleep with her? I know that's Peggy's niece. Dick fucking move." Bucky is getting a fraction louder with every word making Steve and Sam wince.

"I didn't sleep with her, Jesus. I don't want to. Why would you even think that?" Steve's voice goes high and exasperated.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because when I left you alone the last time you let half the USO suck your dick?" Bucky has both his hands gripped tight on the back of Steve's seat and he shakes it slightly as he goes off. Sam chokes next to him.

"Hey!" Steve shouts. "It was one girl and you were at war. What? You can flirt your way through life but I can't make eyes at someone a couple times? I just fucking missed you."

"Steve," Sam interjects calmly. "You're drifting out of your lane." Steve blinks and realigns himself.

"It's not _making eyes_ if you're coming down her throat." Bucky snaps.

" _Shit_." Sam blurts.

"God, fuck you. Sharon has never sucked my dick and she never will. Why can't you drop it?"

"Because I just remembered three days ago that you did that! It's fresh for me!"

"Did what?" Steve asks, out of patience. God, the first time in months he sees Bucky, the first time in years he's _speaking_ to Bucky and they're at each other's throats.

"Let that showgirl suck you off. And it wasn't once was it? No, she told me it was _all the time_."

"It wasn't _all the time_. And I seem to remember you necking with her right after she told you."

"Come on." Sam laughs dryly.

"Whatever Steve, you still fucking did it. And I'm mad about it." Bucky's grip on Steve's headrest is so tight he tears into it with his metal fingers.

"You weren't then." Steve points out.

"I am now. I bet if I hadn't come back you would've slept with Sharon right? If you didn't know I was alive?"

"I know you kissed Howard. I read that in one of your journals." Steve deflects. It's not that he would have actually slept with Sharon but he definitely wasn't denying his attraction to her. Okay, maybe before the whole thing in D.C. he might've, before he knew she was a Shield agent and Peggy's _niece_. Yeah, maybe then. But not _now_.

"So what. It was a kiss. I didn't fuck him." Bucky shrugs.

"Yeah, but you sure as hell fucked Natasha." Steve floors it through a yellow light.

"Yikes." Sam's eyes widen.

"Are you shitting me? I had my brain wiped you complete dick I didn't even know my own name." Bucky says through gritted teeth. He's giving Steve the glare of a lifetime and Sam is careful not to look too long in his direction lest he'd like to catch fire.

"Well I didn't fuck anybody else in the last seventy years. I don't know why you're giving me the third degree."

"What does that mean?" Bucky yells in Steve's ear looking honestly confused.

"Like to give someone shit for something." Sam explains. He looks completely tired with one hand rubbing his forehead in stress.

"Then you deserve the third degree, Steve. I never got that mad at you back then for anything because I was so far up your fucking ass."

"And you're not now? Because it kind of feels like you still are with all this yelling."

"You're the one doing all the yelling."

"While we're at it, here's something else I read in your journals; you knew about my mother. All about her," Steve hits the break hard at a stop light and turns around to face Bucky. "I don't wanna fight. But you knew all that and you never fucking told me." Bucky visibly retreats inward, his shoulders slump and his eyes glaze over. Steve feels guilty at the change and tries to soften his look and apologize but Bucky slouches back into his seat and turns away.

"She didn't want me to." He answers quietly. Steve can't form a response so he stays quiet and dejected. He's still looking back at Bucky when Sam tells him the light has turned. After twenty minutes sans shouting or any speaking at all Sam draws a breath next to him.

"This may be a bad time but," Sam begins. "I'm almost positive Sharon is a lesbian."

"What?" Steve and Bucky say in unison.

* * *

Sharon did end up bringing Bucky clothes after all and to his surprise she took the liberty of ripping off the left sleeve of the jacket. Bucky would laugh if Steve wasn't standing next to him changing into his Cap uniform, ten shades of pink and avoiding Bucky's stripped down form at all costs. Bucky's still relatively annoyed with him but it's quickly subsiding as he watches Steve pull his pants on. Steve must feel him watching or see him out of the corner of his eye because with one and a half legs in his pants he looses his balance and starts falling forward. Bucky catches him roughly and tugs him back up in a blink.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles still not meeting Bucky's eye. They're standing around a corner out in the open not far from the runway. The place is barren from the evacuation and Sam opted for changing far away from Steve and Bucky, _like hell I'm buddying up with the two of you in a no clothes situation_. "Hey, listen, um. I'm sorry for earlier. I really wasn't trying to fight."

"That's what you always say, Rogers." Bucky sighs and shoots Steve the best smile he can muster at the moment. It ends up being small because his stomach and hands and tongue and fingers are tingling from the closeness of Steve's half dressed body. At Bucky's words, Steve relaxes into the hands that are still resting on his shoulders. His head dips forward and he closes his eyes. Bucky doesn't exactly know what to do as Steve inches into Bucky's space. He's close enough Bucky can feel all of his heat roll off him and settle on Bucky's exposed skin. Bucky closes his eyes letting the warmth wash over him. He can't remember the last time someone touched him with such kindness, so he breathes it in greedily. Goosebumps appear all over as Steve rests his forehead against Bucky's, slowly. Softly. He sucks in a sharp, nervous breath but he doesn't push Steve away. He's dreamt of times like these, moments where they leaned against one another, tired and near the breaking point. He's imagined it happening again and now that it is Bucky's brain turns to static, a radio station with no signal. He can't think past the feeling of Steve against him, his hands coming to rest tentatively on his waist and pulling him a little closer. Bucky can tell Steve is giving him time and opportunity to pull away or stop him if it's too much. He did the same after Azzano. But Bucky doesn't want to pull away, it's not even an option. His arms snake around Steve's neck to hold him closer, to get more of that unbelievable heat.

They keep their foreheads together, Steve knows better than to lean in for more and Bucky is grateful. Right now, the contact is enough. It's perfect and _enough_.

"I'm sorry." Steve says and he sounds like he's holding back a thousand more apologies. Bucky nods against him and wonders at the whispered words. They're weighty coming from Steve's dry lips and they hang around him like misty air. Steve is saying sorry for more than just the fight in the car. He's saying sorry for so much more and now isn't the time and Bucky is swallowing anxiously with the pressure of it.

"Let's finish getting dressed. We've got a job to do." Bucky cuts through the quiet and Steve shudders under his arms. Bucky can tell Steve isn't ready to let go.

"Pushy." Steve tiredly jokes. They separate and two pairs of blue eyes drift lazily open and land on each other. Bucky fears Steve might say he loves him or something and he feels panic creep up his neck. More than now really not being the time he doesn't think he's ready to hear that again much less try and respond to it in a way that doesn't leave Steve looking rejected and lost. So Bucky turns away and pulls on the rest of his clothes, leaving Steve to do the same. Then he heads off with Sam, according to the plan, and waits for the conflict to inevitably arise.

* * *

In Siberia Bucky holds his breath as they walk through the doors. With snow still stuck to his boots he walks through the halls, gun gripped tight in his hands. He won't let himself shake, not here in front of Steve and not now when there's a fight to be had. His priority is the other soldiers. He tells himself that over and over even when visions of blood and echoes of screams assault him at practically every corner. Tony arrives and adds to the unease until he claims to be on their side. Then Bucky feels a sliver of relief that it isn't just him who has to look out for Steve and kill five other assassins.

That is until he sees the five dead bodies and hears the grainy sounds of a video. He doesn't need to see the screen to know what it is. He _lives_ it as Tony watches it. He sees Howard kneeling in front of him, frightened and panting. He hears Maria, who he never knew, whimper and call out for her husband in the background. He kills Howard again for what must be the hundredth time.

Another fight breaks out, _because what fucking else_ , leaving Bucky on the ground bloodied and missing an arm again. His eyes try to focus on his surroundings, they try to find Steve but he feels too far away. He feels like he's in a fever dream. He feels like they're doing it _again_ , those soviet fucks. They're making him think Steve is here with him _again_. His instinct is to be afraid and let his body give in to the shivering but Bucky wills it away because he knows his handlers won't let that happen without punishment. The concrete around him seems to be screaming for him to get up and do as he's told, even if he can't remember what his orders were, but his body is dead weight until Steve picks him up and drops the shield at Tony's angry words. _Tony_ , Bucky thinks distantly. Tony was never in Siberia, he was never in his dreams. He doesn't know him - he didn't know him. Steve's fingers dig into Bucky and it begins to pull Bucky out of his trance. The smoke is clearing and now Bucky really is shaking. _Steve is real_.

"I don't get it, Rogers," Tony says between breaths. Steve keeps hobbling away with Bucky tight in his arms. "I don't fucking get this." And Bucky, in his painful haze is taken back in time to the sound of his sister's voice in the doorway. She hadn't understood either.

"He doesn't - He doesn't get it?" Bucky mumbles against Steve as he hauls them both up the ladder. Steve gives him a confused look but says nothing. Maybe Bucky isn't making sense, maybe he's speaking the wrong language. He tries again. "He doesn't know us?" And that gets Steve to bite his lip and hold Bucky tighter, but not another word is spoken. Outside they find T'Challa and Zemo. Bucky doesn't know what happens to Zemo, he's too busy passing out in T'Challa's jet to notice. He wakes when they arrive to wherever it is they end up and Bucky hardly gets a look around before Steve is carrying him into a med bay of some kind. Bucky doesn't know why he's so tired and incoherent, but he is. He's absolutely exhausted. Vaguely he can feel the left side of his body throbbing but he pushes it aside to focus his energy on getting a glance at Steve. He's hovered over him looking worried and wrecked. Blood and dirt marring his cheeks and lips. They still look pink despite it all. _Lips, lips, lips,_ Bucky's delirium supplies. He attempts to shift towards Steve and grab his wrist so he won't leave his side. It's been too long away. It's been far too long.

"Stay." Bucky gets out hoping Steve will hear him. He can't keep himself awake long enough to see if he does but he has a feeling Steve won't leave his side for anything now.

* * *

When he comes to the room looks like Brooklyn at dusk. It isn't, it can't be, but Bucky holds on to that thought as long as his muddled brain will allow. A low reddish hue paints his surroundings and he groans at the ache pulsing through his body. It begins at his left shoulder and ripples out from there.

"Hey, Buck," A soft whisper comes from his other side. His groggy thoughts put together that he's in a bed. It feels bigger than a hospital bed and with the shift of the body next to him he concludes that it is in fact a real bed. "Are you in pain?"

"Steve?" Bucky breathes out suddenly overwhelmed. The pain racing through his body, the confusion of where he is, the unexplained presence of Steve. It falls on him like rocks and boulders and tears start to slip from his eyes.

"Hey, hey," Steve comes closer and puts a gentle arm over Bucky's stomach. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's alright. You're safe. I promise. We're safe now. You're okay." He can feel Steve pull him under his chin and Bucky uses his shaky strength to curl into him. He hasn't felt this comfort in years. Steve Rogers has not held him like this in fucking lifetimes. His tears immediately come faster and then he's gasping against Steve's steadiness.

"I didn't - I didn't know how much life was gonna rip us apart," Bucky is half speaking, half wheezing. "I didn't think we were gonna end up like this. I thought we were gonna die in the same house, maybe in the same bed and I thought it was me and you and Brooklyn and growing up together, like it's always been. But now it's all gone. It's dead. Blurry. I can't see a damn thing.” Bucky chokes on a sob, his hysteria rising rapidly. He pulls at the covers Steve wrapped around them with his hand.

"You can see me. I’m right here," Steve assures putting a hand on Bucky’s neck and pulling him as close as he can get, just as he had done in that war worlds away. "I'm still here, and we're still dying in the same bed. Seventy years apart ain't gonna stop me. It ain’t stopping us. I'm here now." 

* * *

Two days later Bucky leaves dinner with Steve and his merry band of fugitives for bed. Even Romanoff has shown up. He brushes a hand on Steve's shoulder as he walks out, still feeling off balanced and bruised.

He lays awake under the thick blankets looking out the window, which is an entire wall, at Wakanda. He watches the sunlight drift low over the abundant foliage and the unraveling city. It's unreal, every inch of this place and the people here. It's a haven and he hasn't thanked T'Challa enough for the hospitality. And no matter his reassurances Bucky still feels ridiculously unworthy of the generosity. More than simple kindness, T'Challa and his people have been approaching him as _friends_. He doesn't deserve it. With all that he's done, he doesn't deserve them. His stomach feels sick at the unyielding truth but the door clicks open disturbing his thoughts from going further.

"Are you awake?" Steve whispers through the lilac filtered light. Bucky snaps his eyes shut and pointedly keeps silent. He doesn't wanna talk. He can't talk anymore. It's all he's been doing since he got here. Talking to Steve, the doctors, the king, the princess, Steve's nosy friends. He needs a goddamn break.

Steve leaves it at that and rustles around the room for his sleep clothes. When he's changed he climbs in next to Bucky and shuffles up next to him, not touching at first, just staying close. Since their first night here Steve has been careful about boundaries with Bucky. He only touches him when he's sure Bucky wants it. It's a long cry from the days of unwarranted cuddling in muddy trenches and creaky beds in Brooklyn. Minutes tick by without movement so Bucky shifts backwards, lining himself up against Steve's front. Since his shoulder is still in pain he's not completely on his side so his face rests perpendicular to Steve's, their noses colliding. Steve lets out a relieved puff of air and lets his arm fall over Bucky's stomach. Now, Bucky can fall asleep.

The nightmare comes slow. He almost doesn't dream at all. He drifts awake through the night and near dawn he opens his eyes to confirm that Steve is still with him. When he sees him sprawled out next to him with their legs interlocked he lets himself go back under. That's when it comes, shrouded in grey and black and that sickly shade of red that stinks of death. It begins like this:

They come upon the burning land. It stretches for miles and smolders underneath their feet. He can feel the dying coals burn through his boots and heat the soles of his feet. The pain is sweltering but he pushes on at Steve's side. It's a war here but he'd said he would follow him anywhere.

Far off in front of them is a heap of bodies. Bucky isn't close enough to see if he recognizes any of them but the feeling in his throat tells him he will. A man, a stranger, who kneels off to the side chants ancient syllables that mean nothing to anyone but Steve who, as like hot blood the Catholicism still courses through him, responds dutifully back under his breath. Bucky blinks at him, unnerved by the show of religion. He knows he doesn't fall to it anymore, like knees at alters, but the reflex, the instinct, is still there.

They're at a funeral, Bucky realizes. He has heard these words. He has seen the sprinkle of holy water doused over a coffin before. Here, it catches in the fiery light and smells a lot like Steve's skin. It lands at the foot of the pile. _They are attending a funeral_ , Bucky's mind insists. And a priest is intoning the liturgy while they mourn.

Bucky steps around Steve to get closer to the bodies. He begins to make out familiar faces and cries out in response. He expects Steve to reach out for him and pull him back but he remains unbothered.

Bucky sees the people they made him kill, the leaders, the wives, the children. He sees some German soldiers he killed in the war but who's faces he could not scrub from his mind. He sees his family, his sisters, draped with ash colored skin over one another. He sees Howard. He sees Tony. He sees Natasha and Sam. But worse than all that, at the top of the pile lays Steve, freshly mutilated, the heart yet to quit. His bloodied eyes, crying rose red tears, lock with Bucky's. Bucky is paralyzed where he stands, the air knocked out of him while he takes in the sight of his dying lover.

" _Killer_." Steve whispers. His voice comes clear like he isn't choking on the blood that steadily flows out of his mouth. Bucky watches Steve's reddened lips as he mouths the word over and over to the time of the Latin being spoken behind him.

He sees the smoke next, coming from around the bodies and over them. Then the flames, blue at the heart, flicker to life from between the throng of corpses. It comes to life fast and Bucky can feel the heat peal at the skin on his face. But he remains where he stands, watching them burn.

Watching Steve burn.

Steve screams as it overtakes him and Bucky feels his knees give out. He wishes to run, to save him, but he can't do more than watch and sink into the ground. The man, the priest who had been speaking comes over to kneel next to him. Bucky can see the fire is melting his skin too but he doesn't seem to feel it.

"You will never gain absolution. You will never be free." He sings at Bucky. He had always hated the way priests droned out hypnotic melodies at mass. This felt worse, this felt like hot acid being poured down his throat. The words stuck to his teeth and his tongue and slid like slime down his throat. Bucky doubles over choking on them. He tries to cough it out of him, vomit, but it is no use.

He wakes up coughing, blood dripping down his chin mixing with the tears he shed in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Rest For The Wicked - Lykke Li
> 
> we're finally in wakanda gang


	33. Like An Image Passing By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like an image passing by, my love, my life  
> In the mirror of your eyes, my love, my life  
> I can see it all so clearly  
> Answer me sincerely  
> Was it a dream, a lie  
> Like reflections of your mind, my love, my life  
> Are the words you try to find, my love, my life  
> But I know I don't posses you  
> So go away, God bless you  
> You are still my love and my life  
> Still my one and only

2016

He puts his right hand on Steve's cheek, cupping it warmly and looking at him with promise. Steve holds a breath as Bucky kisses him once at the corner of his mouth, the closest he's gotten to his lips since they've been here, before climbing in and saying a quiet goodbye. It's only for Steve, not any of the doctors or scientists flitting about and it has Steve wanting to say the words that have been trying to spill out of him since they found solace here.

 _I love you, I miss you, I want you to stay_.

But Steve stays silent, lips pressed tight. He has to remind himself that this isn't really a goodbye. Bucky will still be here he just won't be snapping at Steve or kicking his ankles in his sleep.

Steve remains stiff in his spot, hands fisted in his pockets, as Bucky goes under. Steve watches his grey eyes flutter shut and his nose flare with one last breath. There's a tightness in Steve's chest that started the minute Bucky made the unthinkable suggestion. Only days ago Bucky woke up gasping and coughing and keeping as far away from Steve as he could get. After that he disappeared from sight to calm down. Steve had stayed in bed, sitting upright, half in and half out of the sheets. The longer he stared at the door the less he felt like Bucky was real and not some high energy dream Steve's brain conjured up to quell the fact he was a criminal seeking asylum in a foreign country. But Bucky had come back, slipping into bed and pulling Steve down against him.

"I don't want this anymore." He'd murmured into Steve's still bare chest. Panic had zipped through Steve. _What could he not want? Wakanda? Steve? Living, itself?_

"What d'you mean, Buck?" Steve whispered back, arms tense as they wrapped around Bucky.

"I need out of my head. I need it all to stop." Bucky's opened mouth breaths were coming quicker and leaving damp spots on Steve's skin. Steve steeled himself and then asked the question he'd rather not have uttered.

"You need," Steve swallowed nervously. " _life_ to stop? Or?" Bucky had looked up at him then, eyes wide but glassy. He shook his head slowly.

"No," Bucky took a deep breath. Then another. "I want to be alive. I've got a reason to be alive. But there are things they did to me that I can't fix. That you can't fix, Steve. Fucking therapists can't even fix. I need help."

"What kind?" Steve asked.

"I talked to T'Challa today," Bucky said as he leaned out of Steve's tight hold. "And he let me talk to his sister. They can help, I think. They're going to try. They actually offered when we first got here but I needed to think about it. Shuri said it can be invasive but they can get the triggers out."

"Shit, that's good then," Steve smiled at him letting his relief show. All that disjointed and foggy atmosphere had briefly dissipated. Bucky wanted to get better and while Steve had been wallowing in the fear of being left behind again Bucky had done something useful. Steve laid a kiss on Bucky's nose, which made him crinkle it in mock disgust. Then his face melted into a downcast stare that wouldn't land anywhere near Steve's face. Steve's stomach gave a little turn. That funny look meant there was more, it always had. "What else?"

Bucky had finally looked back up at Steve, his face fixed into nothingness. He opened his mouth to speak but let it hang open until he found the words to say. Steve couldn't tell if he was afraid or upset or if he felt anything at all. It didn't matter because when Bucky told him he wanted to go under again Steve suddenly couldn't think one single thought. His brain was tripping over the words, fumbling trying to understand them. It hadn't made sense. It couldn't make sense.

"What?" Steve forced out as he stood from the bed. He took a step back and another until he hit the wall. Bucky sat up clumsily, watching him go and then, finally, Steve could see what he was feeling. He braced himself against the surface and watched Bucky's eyes turn watery, watched his lip quiver a second before he bit it to hide it.

"Don't fucking look at me like that. You don't understand. You can't understand, sweetheart," His voice was soft, a crackling whisper that should have been reserved for closeness and hopefulness. But there he sat, begging Steve with a shattered heart and broken words. "I can't live like this. I'm a threat. I'm - I'm a killer."

"Stop."

"Listen to me, Steve," Bucky closed his eyes, screwed them shut to keep Steve out. "I can't get better without help. We can't get better."

"We?" Steve pushed himself off the wall and hovered over the bed, over Bucky's small looking form. Bucky nodded up at him reaching his hand up to rest on Steve's neck.

"When I'm gone," Bucky began but then saw the way Steve's body jerked at his words. "When I'm _temporarily_ under, I need you to get help. Yes, Steve. You need help," Steve shook his head and quickly added up all the reasons in his head why he was fine but before he could voice them Bucky cut him off harshly. "If you don't do this, Rogers, then don't bother showing up when I wake up."

"You can't do that. You don't get to fucking do that to me. I've been without you for years." Steve lifted a hand and placed it roughly over Bucky's, holding it there.

"I don't give a fuck. I feel you at night moving restlessly. All that thrashing around. I hear you cry out. I watch you with your friends. I've watched you fight, now, so much different than before. I've seen the way you stare off. The way you wring your hands when you think no one is looking. I catch you startling at unexpected noises. I _see_ you, pal. You look miserable. And lost. And I know I'm in the same fucking bag. But I'm not living like that anymore. We’re here. We’re alive. And we’re gonna keep living," Bucky tightened his grip on Steve and pulled him down to sit in the spot next to him. When Steve didn't respond Bucky sighed. "Did you hear me, punk? I said you're living with me for the next hundred years. I decided one century on this planet wasn't enough."

"I heard you," Steve responded not yet looking Bucky in the eye. "I'll try."

"Christ," Bucky let his shoulders relax and his eyes drift closed. "Good. Fuck, pal. I need you, okay?" Then Bucky had coiled up again. They hadn't been vocal about their feelings yet. Not even physical past holding one another and light kisses anywhere but the mouth. Steve was waiting on Bucky's cue. He didn't want to overstep or smother him. He wanted to make sure Bucky still wanted him. Silly, but still unavoidable after all this time apart.

"Okay," Steve responded lamely. "I need you too."

Now, in the temperate air of the lab Steve blinks twice, three times, quickly to push the memory away. Bucky is right, this is right. He needs this and more importantly he _wants_ this. Steve would be damned to think his selfish needs were more important than letting Bucky have this choice.

_I can’t trust my own mind._

Steve stays outside the chamber watching the stillness of Bucky’s body. A part of him wants him to just be sleeping, nodding off, and any minute now he’ll perk up with bright eyes and lay it on Steve for sitting there _watching like a damn creep, you ever do anything useful, Rogers?_

But the truth is Bucky is a thousand miles away from him. Steve lays a hand, really just brushes his fingertips on the glass while he ignores the people around him. A young girl, T’Challa’s sixteen year old sister, eyes holographic brain scans that Steve realizes belatedly must be Bucky’s. She looks too young to be the one seemingly in charge but no one else seems to think that way so he accepts the exceptional circumstance. She lets him stand outside Bucky’s chamber while she works. Someone at one point offers to take him to his room but he just shakes his head without taking his eyes off of the blue tan of Bucky’s cheekbones. 

It's the same skin he's kissed a thousand times. The same skin he's buried his nose into, smiled into, wept into. He has been kneeling at the threshold of Bucky's unshakable devotion since he was a little boy. Now he feels like he's standing outside waiting for his knock to be answered.

“Captain Rogers,” A young voice pulls him back into the world. Steve finally rips a reluctant gaze from Bucky and looks to Shuri. She stands behind him with a concerned crease in her brow then she steps towards him. She looks tired and moves lethargically to prove it. “It’s been five hours.” Steve’s brain doesn’t process what she means at first. Five hours of what, or 'til what, or since what? Then it clicks that he has been standing here staring at Bucky for _five fucking hours_. Maybe he was right about Steve needing help too.

“Oh, uh,” Steve rolls his shoulders, feeling the stiffness. “Um, sorry I-”

“It’s alright,” She interrupts with a tight smile. “I'm done for the night. I'll be leaving the lab. You should too, I think.” Steve nods and moves his feet for, apparently, the first time in hours.

"Thank you, I will." He gives her a smile and turns away to leave.

"This process," She starts and Steve turns around. "There is a great deal to it. But he will not be gone long. In fact, I don't think it will be all that hard once I get the chance to work through everything. I won't give you a date, but he will awake soon," She comes close and squeezes his arm. Then she punches it. "Now get out of my lab. You almost mope more than my brother when Nakia is away."

"Nakia?" Steve quirks an eyebrow.

"Not so loud," Her wide eyes flick jokingly around the room. "He might hear you and then we'll both have to hear about it for hours." Steve feels a small laugh slip out. The teasing and the calmness makes him nostalgic, really truly sentimental for old Brooklyn and the Barnes girls.

"He had three sisters." He hears himself say, still caught up in flashing memories of nights at the dinner table with Becca and Ruth, Georgie on Bucky's lap.

"He told me that yesterday when he came to see me for his scans. One is still alive, he tells me."

"Georgie. I've seen her. I don't think he has."

"I'm betting he has his reasons. Maybe when he is better he can visit her." And that's a thought. He imagines the Georgie of today seeing Bucky again, muscled and hairy. He imagines her smile, beginning small like an infant's accidental lip curl and broadening like a sunrise. Every Barnes had a smile like sunlight and Steve can picture them both, Bucky and Georgie's, those twin grins full of unbelievable stories and biting humor.

Shuri leads him out of the lab and they find Sam waiting outside. Steve nearly falls over from a flood of love and gratitude for him. Shuri bids them both a goodnight and walks away with some guards. Steve turns his openly fond expression on Sam's tired face.

"In case you were wondering," Sam lays a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Yes, I have been sitting out here for the last five hours wondering what the fuck you been doing in there. First hour I thought; alright I get it, makes sense. Second hour, even that's understandable. Third hour? T'Challa brought me a Wakandan version of those Tamagotchi things. You know what that is? I know you know what that is." Steve doesn't bother with a verbal response. Instead he buries his face into Sam's shoulder and let's him hold him for however long it takes for Steve to get a hold of himself. Then Sam leads Steve back to his room where he collapses on top of the unmade bed. Bucky usually makes it, he always used to before Steve could even bother thinking about it. That was another wonderfully unchanged Bucky thing.

"No wonder you're so helpless. Poor Barnes been cleaning up after you for a hundred years." Sam says and Steve realizes he had said all that aloud. Sam shuts the bedside light off and makes to go but Steve reaches out desperately.

"I don't want to sleep alone again. I forgot what it was like, having him next to me." Steve closes his eyes against the pillow but keeps his fingers wrapped around Sam's wrist.

"Alright, man. I'll stay if you want." Sam lowers his voice and lays himself next to Steve. Steve can feel that Sam doesn't run as hot as Bucky but he still appreciates the company and inches closer to him.

Steve retreats to the burdening silence of his mind and lies awake aching for a drift into unconsciousness. When sleep doesn't come and Sam is passed out beside him his mind drifts to thoughts of Bucky. He flips through the pages of their years together mourning the end of so many eras they jumped through together and waiting patiently for the next.

Bucky will come back. He has every time, even if Steve had to yank him back himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Love My Life - ABBA
> 
> you know I had to use an abba song at some point hehe
> 
> and I know this is a bit short but my brain is dead and it was a lot shorter in my drafts from months ago so i tried to give it a little life
> 
> and here's the thing about the chronology between this and Black Panther: I don't know what I'm doing thank u thats all


	34. My War Is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here stands a man  
> With a bullet in his clenched right hand  
> Don't push him son  
> For he's got the power to crush this land  
> Oh hear, hear him cry, boy
> 
> Don't you ever leave me alone  
> My war is over  
> Be my shelter from the storm  
> My war is over

Bucky wiggles his nose and breathes in shallow, testing. Then his lips fall open to greedily suck in more air. His consciousness is a buzz right now, he can't remember where he's at or who he's with. Everything is a blue fog hanging thickly in front of his unopened eyes. With a few more icy inhales his instinct to remain stiff and quiet falls away with the realization that somehow he is _safe_. There is a hand on him then a young voice seems to pass him off to someone else. It feels like help, kindness, it feels delicate. His thoughts are still jumping through blurry concessions of his name, his age, how tall he is, and if he's ready to comply. He is but he waits to say that until he's prompted.

 _That's not right._ There is something different here. He's safe, he tells himself. He's never been taken from cryo and held like this.

Not on his own accord, his mouth starts moving and he's asking _who is this_ and _where am I_ until the hands on him whisper back worriedly. The voice is like dew on emerald green grass but then Bucky remembers he hates that feeling when he has to walk through wet grass. Then he thinks the voice sounds like apples and cinnamon in September but then he can't immediately recall what cinnamon smells like.

"It's me, love. I've got you. You're safe. I have you, you're safe." The apple voiced man murmurs into Bucky's damp hair. He shivers, both from the cold and from the vibrations coming from the man that land on his clammy skin. He struggles to open his eyes, it's too fucking bright wherever they are. The man must take notice because Bucky hears him ask around for the lights to be turned down. The glaring light dims away and Bucky blinks one eye open and fixes it on apple man. He recognizes that nose, those lips, those big round eyes. He knows him. He knows him.

"Shit," Bucky says involuntarily while opening the other eye to take him all in. " _Pretty_."

"Shh," The man hoists Bucky up a bit more. "You're okay, pal. It's good to see you again." And flashes of smiles and laughs and embarrassing blushes race across Bucky's mind before he can identify the man but when does he grabs onto the single syllable name and gasps.

"Steve." Bucky wraps his arms around him only to rediscover he has one arm again. Steve lowers him onto a table or a wide chair and Bucky looks around him quickly to assess. His eyes dash between a girl, _Shuri_ , then a guard next to her, _Okoye_ , and a man _T'Challa_. Bucky takes a few more deep breaths as he brings his gaze back to Steve. From there he can't look at anything else and finds he doesn't really want to. Their last interaction comes back to him, their last fight, their last embrace. He lets what feels like the events of the past week come back to him like a violent assault and guilt courses through him when he remembers Siberia. Vaguely, his left arm aches and pulses where it no longer hangs.

"We're in a lab in Wakanda. You're safe here. I'm here. Natasha," Steve steps to the side to gesture to the woman, _Natasha, I know her too_ , behind him. "She's here. Sam is outside. I didn't know if you wanted him in here or not. I mean you seemed pretty back and forth with him so I just wanted to be sure. Uh, Shuri figured your shit out. They did half of it when you were out but there's more that will take a couple days. The sun is out today though. A really nice day to come back to the world."

"Jesus Christ, Steve, you're rambling," Bucky rubs his hand over his eyes and tries to hide a smile. "You really are shit at this."

"Fuck, sorry, I-"

"Yeah, yeah, you missed me." Bucky staggers to his feet and not so purposefully stumbles into Steve again. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and stays there in the calm dark. His hand grips the back of Steve's jacket and pushes Steve closer to him. He smells dirt and blood on Steve and feels the oncoming urge to chew his ass out for whatever it is he's been doing but Bucky's head is still swimming. He wants to ask how long it's been when he registers the scratch of stubble on Steve's neck and jaw. He absently rubs against it and takes another minute to come back to himself against Steve's hot skin.

"It's been ten days," Steve answers before Bucky even asks aloud. He's talking quietly just for Bucky to hear. It's a surprisingly short amount of time, Bucky thinks to himself, and he finally raises his head to look wildly at Steve. "Woulda been sooner but there were some problems outside. Dethronement or something like that. I wasn't here. I couldn't stay. After the third day without you I had to leave. There was a crisis in Lebanon anyway."

"You could have brought him, you know." Bucky murmurs back after he decides to deal with _crisis in Lebanon_ later. Their stretched out greeting has made some people look away, turn themselves towards other more distracting things. But Shuri and T'Challa are still staring and Bucky can see T'Challa fighting a funny smile when Shuri whispers something to him. Natasha is looking bored on the surface but curious and pleased underneath. Bucky decides then to go ahead and love her as he knows Steve does.

"Brought who?" Steve asks.

"Sam. I like him. You could have let him in."

"Oh," Steve still looks confused. Probably because nearly every time Sam and Bucky have been around each other they were either silently challenging each other or verbally berating each other. It wasn't far off from Bucky's relationship with Steve, minus the decades of pining and fucking and unhealthy codependency. "I wasn't sure. You two are weird with each other." Bucky just shrugs and smiles as he studies Steve's worn looking face. The spell breaks a moment later when the devil himself appears at Natasha's retrieval.

"You rang?" Sam asks with an unimpressed look. When Bucky doesn't immediately respond besides returning the bored expression Sam continues. "I don't wanna start shit with you bear man, but you look like hell. I'd suggest some beauty sleep but clearly that ain't your bag. You ever think about plastic surgery?" Bucky isn't quick enough to stifle the laugh that bubbles out of him and even Steve is grinning sloppily next to him. It takes a great deal of energy not to reach out for Sam and _hug_ him but he knows now isn't the time to get touchy or reveal his inner fondness for the man. He has a brain to fix and memories to take back. And yeah, a bitchy repartee to uphold.

"So while you were Encino Man Shuri adopted you." Steve tugs on Bucky's tank top to draw him back. _Greedy_ , Bucky smothers an eye roll.

"And apparently also while you were out Steve thinks he got funnier." Sam adds shaking his head at Steve's reference, which unfortunately doesn't go over Bucky's head.

"We show him one shitty comedy and he thinks he's the next Dave Coulier." Natasha crosses her arms.

"More like Bob Saget." Sam gripes.

"Steve Martin maybe?" Natasha suggests.

"Wish I knew what the fuck was going on." Bucky grumbles and Steve just looks at him as if to say _it's always like this_.

"Point is," Shuri interrupts them looking giddy. "I've officially taken you in as backup brother number one."

"Yes. I make one wrong move and she tells me she will disown me for you." T'Challa smiles warmly at him. Bucky feels himself smile back.

"So," Steve starts. "Here's how it will go: When you're ready Shuri will take a couple more scans and get started. You can have the triggers completely out by tonight and then tomorrow it's like, I don't know, metaphorical brain cleanup or something. She'll explain it better."

"Then after that it's over." Natasha says as she comes over with a new pile of clothes and sets them on the table.

"Over? Just like that? Seventy years and it's gone in a few hours?" Bucky asks breathlessly. Steve nods with a watery smile.

"Yeah, Bucky." He exhales.

"Christ." Bucky leans back and grips the table. It's more than he ever thought he deserved and it's lying right at the edge of the shore.

"Whenever you're ready." Shuri comes over.

"Now is fine," Bucky blurts. "We can start now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The War - SYML
> 
> fellas is it gay to hold on to your bro for an excessive amount of time with a room full of people?


	35. I Am Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am tired  
> I am tired  
> I don't wanna go home anymore  
> I don't wanna throw stones anymore  
> I don't wanna take part in the war  
> I loved you the first time I saw you  
> And you know I love you still  
> I loved you the first time I saw you  
> And you know I love you still

As it turns out, the slowly cooling nights transform into days and weeks and then it's been a month of Steve by his side. No missions or trigger words, just them in the sun and the dirt outside the hut T'Challa gave to them. It's small, quaint and exactly what they need. The village children don't shy away from Bucky, in fact they prefer him over Steve. People have always gravitated towards Bucky more so it doesn't surprise Steve that he's the awkward sap hovering on the sides of Bucky's conversations. A contributing factor to Steve's perpetuated social dissidence is also that Bucky has picked up the local dialect like he's been speaking it his whole life. Steve is still struggling with basic forms of small talk. He doesn't mind that the attention is on Bucky, he never actually did. He's loved and does love seeing Bucky in fluid motion, talking and waving and dancing and laughing. And in the here and now, Steve loves it more. Savors it. Devours it.

On a blistering day they're standing outside in the midsummer air feeding a chicken that a local woman gave them as a gift. Steve still doesn't know how to act around it and refuses to call it by the name Bucky gave it.

"Would you just drop the feed?" Bucky snaps agitated as he watches Steve shift his feet for the thousandth time.

"All of it?" Steve squints against the sun but lets the feed tumble into the dirt next to where the chicken is clucking relentlessly.

"You'd think he's never seen a living animal before." Bucky says to a kid sitting on a sack of extra seed. The boy giggles and says something back in Xhosa which makes Bucky throw his head back in a loud laugh. 

"What's that, Farmer Barnes?" Steve turns around with his hands on his hips. Bucky throws his hand up in silent defense.

"Just saying that if you want Steve Kiev to grow big and strong you shouldn't treat her like a rabid dog. Chick's gotta eat, pal."

"We're still calling this thing Steve Kiev?"

"It's been three weeks. She responds to it now," Bucky kneels down next to the chicken. "Don't you Steve Kiev?" The chicken clucks back in agreement. Steve rolls his eyes.

Natasha, Sam, and Clint are out fighting, finding lives to save, they really don't need Steve. Wanda is on some emotional journey with Vision. Scott has gone home. So, Steve has been here with Bucky cultivating a domestic life that Bucky can't help but fear is fleeting. Steve's never been someone who was good at sticking around. Ideally he'd like to but there's too much he has to control.

By the end of the month Bucky can tell Steve's itching to go back out and hit something. For all his talk about feeling better with the help they're both getting Steve is still restless and angry. But Bucky knows that's just how he is. He's always had to fight something. The future is no different, the present is no different. Of all the glorious parts of Steve that had to stay this is one so big it towers the others. He wrinkles his too big nose the same and gives giggling kisses on Bucky's jaw the same but Bucky is willing to bet he kills the same too. Bucky wants to get him to stay, but it's useless to talk Steve out of anything he really wants. And Bucky is no fool.

Instead, the night before Steve departs for Russia, of all fucking places, Bucky pushes him down on the bed. It's small but just big enough for them to squeeze against each other comfortably. They've not been intimate yet, not since 1945. It's been slow going reestablishing their physical boundaries and needs. They've kissed messily and ran hands all over skin but sex has yet to make a reappearance in their routine. It's not for lack of need, plenty of mornings and accidentally too heated makeout sessions have left them cruelly hard and panting for more. But Steve listened when Bucky said he needed it to be slow, set at a pace he could handle and since then they've known when to stop. It's sweet if not driving them both a little wild.

Bucky had been the one who said _I love you_ again for first time since the war. He whispered it in the early morning two weeks ago when sleep had escaped them both and they sat outside in the damp earth staring up at the stars. Steve was telling him about the constellations he learned about from Wanda. Kept pointing them out and telling stories that Bucky couldn't believe he knew. This was a new Steve, someone so far detached and beautifully different than the boy from Brooklyn. Bucky was grateful and in love and kissed Steve dizzy under the dazzling sky when Steve said it back in a choked rush.

Love as a confession is the drip of honey on a mother's homemade loaf of bread. It's a blue bird landing on the window sill ushering in a springtime breeze. It's the relief of a thunderstorm after a hot summer day. It's the sight of stars at night when the clouds wouldn't go away all day. When Bucky confesses his love and Steve returns it with equal tenderness it's in the quiet, in the dark. It's not the first time but it feels like it. 

Now on the night before Steve leaves him, Bucky tugs off Steve's shoes, pulls at Steve's shirt and lets Steve undo the shawl covering his left shoulder.

Moving against each other again feels like they never stopped. Bucky feels in and out of time, he feels like a boy, nervous and shaking. He feels twenty, confident and naively happy. He feels like a soldier, scared but crashing deeper into the mess of Steve Rogers with every hurried fuck. He feels like a man with nothing left to lose. 

Bucky watches Steve intently, studying every twitch of muscle and hitch of breath. When he writhes underneath him Bucky feels like Steve is a god from some long dead civilization, an untouched beauty like rediscovered portraits from the dark ages of man. Swirls of paint mixing and pulling at threads of thick canvas that cover glistening skin. He kisses the sweat pooling on his chest once. Twice. A dozen more times because he has the time and he can hear water rushing over him like eager breaths and harsh grips. The rain outside hisses as it hits the hot ground and Bucky grunts because he knows exactly how that feels. He's feeling it now as Steve grinds up against him.

"I missed you." They say at the same moment, words mingling into something sweet like summer citrus. Bucky laughs a trail from neck to groin and reacquaints himself with a long lost companion. Steve squirms and comes not a minute later, a gate open and pouring out. 

"That's my love." Bucky whispers into the curls at his nose. Then he returns to the waiting mouth, lazily curved into a bashful smile that's all Steve. 

"Sorry." He shrugs but the glow of his cheeks says he's not fucking sorry in the slightest. Bucky smiles against his bitten lips and feels Steve fully harden against him once more. Steve flips them over and Bucky lets out a string of whimpers and moans as Steve works him open. When he finally gets inside Bucky and fucks in and out of him Bucky's noises level out. Just like they aren't the same people anymore, their lovemaking isn't the same either. Steve isn't as bossy as he used to be and Bucky isn't as vocal as he used to be. It's different, entirely new, but just as breathtaking. Somehow more beautiful because this is their present, a current overflow of emotion and climbing heat. Gasps fall on goosebumped skin and the rain outside trickles to nothing.

When they are lying tucked in and around one another coming down from their highs Bucky can't do much to help the last dredges of anger that seep out of him.

"You're no good at not going to war." He whispers in competition with his lungs regaining a steady intake of air. He feels Steve tense and then force himself to relax.

"Don't." Is all he says and Bucky understands. That is that. Steve will leave in the morning and Bucky will watch him go.

When the sun comes peaking around the hills Steve gathers his clothes and kisses Bucky awake. Bucky follows him outside and watches with bare feet sinking in the mud as Steve begins up the hill to meet up with his Secret Avengers.

"I'll write you," Bucky calls out, a little panicked, a little garbled with sleep. But Steve still turns back and smiles big. He thinks of the letters Steve sent him in the war, simple but dripping with a longing only Bucky understood. Now Bucky can write anything he damn well pleases without the Army censors ruining his letters' meaning. "I'll keep them and when you get back you can read them." Steve walks back down the hill just short of a run and takes Bucky in his arms.

"Fucking hell," Steve mumbles into Bucky's tangled hair. "I love you."

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Party of One - Brandi Carlile


	36. Left My Soul In His Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait a minute!  
> I think I left my conscience on your front door step  
> Wait a minute!  
> I think I left my consciousness in the 6th dimension
> 
> But I'm here right now, right now  
> Just sitting in a cloud, oh, wow  
> I'm here right now, right now  
> With you, oh wow, oh wow

A week after Steve leaves, Shuri takes Bucky into the city. No guards accompany them and it's a huge show of trust, not only because Bucky is Bucky but also because Shuri is the fucking princess and they're letting her alone for the day. Bucky feels a swell of gratitude as Shuri drags him from the hut after complaining what a mess the corner of the room is, which Bucky pointedly mentions is Steve's area.

The city is bustling and chaotic and sprawling far further than Bucky realized. She makes him stop at every street vendor so she can show him the jewelry and the art and the food he's never seen or eaten before. At one stall she buys him a beaded shawl to wear over his shoulder that he can't stop running his fingers over. He grumbles about it only for the sake of disagreement. He actually adores the purple fabric laced with blue and gold painted wooden beads and feels a tingling warmth when she ties it around him.

"Oh, that's better. Red looks good on you, Bucky B. But purple?" She drops her jaw dramatically. "That's a _look_." Bucky laughs and she links her arm in his to move him forward. They stop for a late lunch at a cafe type place on the south side. She orders for him because he's still getting used to the different kinds of food here. At home, he eats from the garden the children have been helping him grow and any food his distant neighbors or the king's guard brings. Shuri orders him the same thing she gets and he eats the entire plate of what he thinks is a wild hog sandwich with tangy greenery on the side.

"Thank you." Bucky says when he's done. Shuri peers at him in thought.

"I have a confession, white brother." Shuri crumples her napkin nervously.

"What are you dragging me into this time?" He asks throwing back the rest of his drink.

"You act like I do this all the time!" Shuri laughs at him. As of late she's been dragging Bucky into a great deal of messy situations that Shuri and Shuri alone finds hilarious. It's almost like having a sister again except his sisters were never this devious and unpredictable. Yesterday she came over and sat outside with Bucky and his chicken, Steve Kiev. She took out a pouch from her pocket and started feeding the contents to Steve Kiev who clucked appreciatively and wouldn't stop following her around. After a while Shuri turned to Bucky and said, "Weird how into forced cannibalism your chicken is." When Bucky jumped up and grabbed Steve Kiev away from Shuri with bulging eyes Shuri fell off the log she was seated on from laughing so hard. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." She had reassured him later but he was still wary of her for the rest of the night.

"You fucking do." He laughs right back.

"Okay well, the reason I took you out today was because there's this festival starting tonight." She smiles mischievously at him. "And it has a certain theme."

"If you're going to dress me up in something please do it within reason. I only have one arm, take pity on me."

"Steve's flare for the dramatic is rubbing off on you, I see." She sighs and sits back in her seat. "It's a family thing. Meant to honor the bond between siblings. But T'Challa is too important to go and what I mean by that is he's out of the country for a UN meeting."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that." Bucky nods and says nothing else.

"So?" Shuri prompts. She leans over the table staring at him waiting for an answer. He copies her body language.

"So what? Go with you to the festival?" He asks with a raise of his eyebrows. T'Challa had warned him a few days ago that Shuri might come sniffing around to try and take Bucky out tonight. He's had some time to deliberate and decide if he'd let her and he settled on acquiescence. It seemed harmless and Shuri is impossibly hard to say no to. He's partly missed the idea of going out, the loudness and the laughter and the music he could feel in his chest.

"Yes!" She huffs in annoyance.

"I don't know." Bucky purses his lips.

"There will be dancing." She teases.

"And what about it?" Bucky asks cocking his head to the side.

"And little birdy, otherwise known as Steve Rogers, says you love dancing. That's your shit."

"Cursing in English now?"

"I can curse in three languages, you degenerate."

"Oh, how unique and interesting."

"Fuck off, you colostomy bag. Are you going to be the big white brother I never asked for tonight or what?"

"Might as well. But I wanna be back in time to tuck Steve Kiev in. She gets fussy if I don't."

"You're a funny man when you aren't being a grumpy goat herder, you know that?"

"Know what?"

"Know this: I got us matching outfits for tonight."

"And this is where I stop you."

"Okay but listen; we're wearing deep blue with silver accents and the best part? Slippers."

"Did I ever tell you I'm allergic to slippers?"

"Strange. Did I ever tell you I'm allergic to lies? I saw you wearing my brother's last week."

"Fuck, I thought I was so careful."

"Enough chit chat let's go back and get ready. The festival starts in two hours." Then Shuri pays for the food and pulls Bucky from his seat and they're off to adorn themselves in matching outfits. Bucky would groan if he wasn't so excited.

* * *

The festival goes underway with the fall of the sun and takes place on a couple different streets of the city. There are dancers who move in synchronization on tops of walls and in the middle of the street. There are drums being beaten loudly and people singing along with the music. A few people are clapping their hands to the beat while they watch the dancers. Others join in expertly. Like earlier there are some vendors still out selling festival specific items like masks and ribbons and beaded necklaces. Shuri gets them bracelets and asks him in a flurry of hat trying on if he has his ears pierced.

"Uh, no. Wasn't really a trend during the Great Depression."

"And now, you boring cabbage?"

"And now I'm pretty sure my serum would reject it. Push the metal right out." He gives a big shrug and half smile. He actually pierced them before when he was on his international Hydra bender. To Bucky's disappointment, the serum did in fact pop the earrings out.

"Unfortunate," She says as she tries on another hat. "Oh, this is it. This is it. Try this on, brother." Bucky gets butterflies when she says brother and pulls on the white hat she hands him. He looks at himself in the cheap wobbly mirror and laughs.

"Looks terrible." He keeps laughing, because it really, really does look awful on him. Shuri knows it too because she's cackling next to him buying herself one and paying for his.

"Looks incredible, you mean," She pats his shoulder and they move on to the next stall to watch two young girls take turns painting each other's faces. "Beautiful!" Shuri tells them as they walk by. The girls look up with wide smiles and say their thanks then Shuri leads Bucky to the main event of the night. Towards the middle of the city is something like Central Park in New York, except this is nicer and better in every way. There's a large fountain with a panther gracing the top and a cleared out space in front of it where people are dancing to the fast paced music. It's unlike any dancing Bucky has ever done before but his body itches to join nonetheless.

"Can you do that?" Bucky asks even though he assumes Shuri can. He's seen her do something similar before. She faces him with a ferocious smile and pulls her ugly hat down tighter.

"Can I do that? The question is can _you_ do that?" She shouts as she pulls him onto the makeshift dance floor inbetween the throngs of bodies. She guides him slowly at first, teaching him step by step the dance that flows on around him. He catches on quick, the dancer he's always been, and can't keep the bright smile off his face as his feet pound on the floor. He remembers, in the midst of it all, one night in Brooklyn before the war when he and Steve met up with Becca and her date at a dance hall. Her date had ended up being a square and hardly danced at all. And Steve, true to his nature, was the same way. That left Bucky and Becca to hop around the dance floor together, laughing and purposefully stepping on each other's toes.

By the end of the night he's covered in sweat and giddy on the night air and free drinks. His hair is starting to come undone from the braid Shuri did and the rogue strands stick to his neck. Shuri is laughing and telling stories he only half understands because she keeps switching between Xhosa and English and Arabic. His brain is too wired and fuzzy to accurately translate her in time. He didn't see her drink anything but he wouldn't put it past her to sneak something behind his back.

On the walk back Shuri knocks her shoulder into his.

"Will you marry him?" She giggles to the night. Bucky slows to a stop to gather what she has asked him. _Marriage?_ He's only just got his mind back, his life back. And Steve is a big part of that and yes he can't imagine living without him but Steve is in no place to make that kind of commitment when he can't even stay by Bucky's side longer than thirty days. He thinks about it for a long time, so long Shuri has stopped swaying on her feet to the distant drums to watch him closely.

"We aren't made for that." Bucky finally whispers. Shuri's smile slips away and she steps towards him.

"But you love him, don't you? I saw your memories, I told you it was invasive. I saw into parts of your world. You're as good as married anyway. Why not do it?"

"We just aren't made for that, Beck." He offers her a small smile and hopes she drops it.

"What?"

"I said we aren't made for that. Things are fine the way they are. Like you said, we're as good as married anyway. It won't change anything."

"No," She shakes her head. "You called me Beck." Bucky feels his body turn cold.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Shuri. I don't know why I did that. Shit, I didn't mean..." He trails off feeling awkward and majorly embarrassed. But underneath he feels a twinge of longing. He loves being here with Shuri and wouldn't trade his time with her. But to be out with Becca again? He can't keep the tears from gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Steve told me you haven't seen your sister, the one who still lives." Shuri says quietly. Bucky clenches his hand around the hat he holds there and looks away.

"Well I'm fucking terrified." He admits in one breath.

"Anyone would be. Just decide if this is how you want it. Never to see her again or not."

"Ain't that simple."

"She's your family. Don't leave family behind just because you think you are not worthy of it. As a little sister I'm telling you, no matter the shit my brother has pulled, I would die for him. I love him. She loves you no matter what you've done." She leaves it at that and he walks her home. She offers transportation rather than making him walk back in the dark alone but he tells her he wants it that way.

"Goodnight then, brother." Shuri calls before slipping inside. She is gone before he can respond but he opens his mouth to talk to the empty air anyway.

"Goodnight, sister." Then he walks back to his hut, back to Steve Kiev who will be sleeping away in the coop Bucky built himself while Steve had watched. He walks back to his vegetable garden that is growing bigger every day. Back to the comfort and quiet of his bed. Back to Steve's messy corner of the room.

He walks home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait A Minute - Willow
> 
> Shuri I love you until the end of time


	37. Concerning Your Predicament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has been thinking and Steve has been away.

Bucky toes the dirt underneath him as he stares out at the water. It's still as stone today, looking like glass. He tunes his ears to the evening sounds surrounding him. As the sun sets with a blush over the landscape the nighttime animals begin their awakening with murmurs and rustles that make him feel much less alone. And lately, with the news from Steve that he would be a week later than previously thought, that's all he's been feeling. Shuri has been in the lab a lot more and while Bucky often joins her to watch and help she's been working on something far too big with a bundle of other scientists. She told him he could stay but the crowded lab gave him a feeling that maybe his welcome had become somewhat worn. Additionally, T'Challa has been too busy running a country to keep him company. Even the few members of the Jabari tribe, who had recently taken a liking to popping by, have been scarce. The local children have still been visiting but they're _children_.

Bucky crouches at the shore of the lake and rests his fingertips on the soft earth, steadying himself.

Shuri set him up with communication to Steve, _better than a phone and better than email_. It sits on his wrist in the form of a bracelet and he bends his fingers down to tap a couple times to make the call he came out to the quiet lake to make. In an instant, they can see each other's faces and Bucky can't stop smiling at the tired sight of Steve Rogers glowing in front of him.

"Fuck, look at you." Bucky says to him and Steve smirks. Bucky sits himself down comfortably in the dirt and smiles at the weary looking man.

"Hey, Buck." Steve's gruff voice comes through. He sounds like he did in those days where they couldn't catch sleep between marches and they'd ran themselves ragged and practically useless.

"You getting any sleep?" Bucky asks with a serious set to his mouth.

"Are you?" Steve deflects.

"Um," Bucky licks his lips nervously. He called Steve yesterday so this isn't a check in, he actually has something he needs to talk about. He's discussed it at length with Shuri who has been his sage counsel while Steve's away. But Bucky can only be sure, can only hear the right answer, from Steve. "Yeah. I have, I guess. No more than usual. No less. I've been thinking about doing something, actually, that's why I'm calling."

"Oh, so you didn't just wanna see my handsome face and incredible body?"

"Came for advice, stayed for the ass." Bucky winks and Steve laughs loud enough that Bucky can hear Sam in the background telling him to _shut the fuck up, I'm trying to sleep_. "I wanted to ask you about something. I've only told Shuri. And Steve Kiev. And this goat a woman dropped off last week." Bucky was slowly collecting animals and equipment and other miscellaneous objects from his distant neighbors. He got a large wooden cart three days ago and a goat yesterday. Immediately after the goat was gifted to him the little guy would not stop eating Bucky's clothes. He aptly named him Hungry Steve.

"You have a goat now?" Steve's eyebrows go up.

"Well, _we_ do." Bucky says slowly like Steve somehow forgot his home base is here too.

"Right." Steve agrees.

"Point is, I might go see her." Bucky forces it out in one go, his eyes shut tight like he's taking some god awful medicine his mother used to spoon down his throat when he was a kid. There's a long pause as Steve tries to figure out what he's talking about then his eyes widen.

"Georgie?" It comes out as a whisper.

"Yeah, I was talking with Shuri about it because just being around her made me think about it and I know you've seen G," Bucky clears his throat. "I wanna see her. She's my sister. I've been shitty not giving her anything of me."

"Buck," Steve does his frustrated head shake and Bucky swallows a groan at what he knows is coming. "You haven't been shitty. You've been healing. She wouldn't want anything else for you and you know it."

"Yeah, 'course," Bucky quietly agrees just to get Steve to shut up. "I'm going this week. T'Challa is gonna get me to New York and I can sneak my way to her apartment in Brooklyn myself. She's still there, all alone. Probably being watched because of me but fuck it. No one caught me when I snuck into the Avengers compound."

"Well, technically I did, once."

"I don't count that," Bucky grumbles. "And I don't know if you know this but I'm kind of world famous for my skill set so I'm sure I can manage having a cup of tea in Brooklyn without getting gunned down." Steve nods thoughtfully ignoring Bucky's weak attempt at humor. Bucky can see Steve's wheels turning and waits for him to get on with it.

"What if you find out you can't leave? What if you decide you can't leave her?" Steve finally asks. He looks worried for the answer but he holds Bucky's gaze regardless.

"Uh," Bucky reels for a moment. He had not thought of this yet. He hadn't wondered what it would be like to leave her again or if he would at all. "Shit, I got no idea. I can't bring her here. Shit. _Fuck_." Then Bucky takes a moment to let it all settle in his mind. How could he leave her? They've been apart so long, they're _family_. But how could he stay? He could never stay. She's an old woman and a stranger. She's lived her whole life without him. She's become someone else.

And so has he.

"I won't..." Bucky mumbles as he studies the dirt slipping through his toes. He loves his sister, he would tear the world apart for her again and again. That will never change. But he has something _good_ here in Wakanda. And he knows that Georgie will understand that. "I won't stay."

"You don't have to leave anyone. You don't have to stay anywhere. I want you to know that, Buck. Wherever you go, I'll help you get there and I'll be there with you."

"Like you are right now?" Bucky lets slip out. He regrets it instantly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he knows it'll just hurt Steve and put another rift in their relationship that they've both been so carefully rebuilding.

"I don't wanna talk about this again." Steve says low and agitated. Bucky feels an angry heat build in his stomach.

" _Again?_ You haven't said shit about it. Every time I bring up you leaving me here you shut me down. Jesus, I get it Steve. I really fucking do. You can't live without it. And so what, right? But I wish you'd talk to me about why. I wish you would just fucking talk to me."

"I don't wanna argue like this, can it wait 'til I'm there for fuck's sake?"

"Fine," Bucky concedes. "Listen I'll call later sometime, yeah? Wanna feed my goat."

"Okay," Steve takes a deep breath. "We'll talk soon."

"Okay." Bucky nods and tries to push the anger away. Steve is quiet for a minute, not hanging up. Bucky doesn't either. They stare at each other in silence until Steve finally opens his mouth to speak.

"Honey?" His voice is gentle and restrained, his grumpiness lost in something else.

"Yeah?" Bucky whispers back.

"When I lived with G, we talked about you all the time. Told stories, you know? She never forgot about you, not for a second. None of your sisters did. And they never stopped loving you either. I know you're worried about how she's gonna see you, because I was worried about how they'd see me when I went to visit her and Becca for the first time. But she loves you. She's missed you."

"I know." Bucky lies. "We'll talk soon, sweetheart."

* * *

It's cloudy in Brooklyn, a drizzling rain covering every possible inch. Bucky lets it soak him as he stands unmoving across the street. His loitering excused by the slow draw of a partly ignored cigarette. He takes a drag when it comes back to him that he's still clutching it between his fingers.

She is seated inside. He can't see from this vantage point but he looked earlier on his scout of the building. She was sitting in a chair with a book on her lap, nodding off. No one else was present, no nurse or neighbor or distant family member Bucky had never met. It was only her in the grey afternoon light. That alone almost sent him running back to the Wakandan jet waiting a few blocks away on a rooftop, invisible but patiently waiting on him.

When Georgie found out Steve was alive she was with Becca, Steve had told Bucky. They were seated together and watching the news when Captain America's resurgence to the twenty-first century was announced. It took months for Steve to actually go see them. Steve said he was afraid to see familiar faces. Peggy was one thing. He had never been able to, and never could stand, to bullshit her. But Bucky's little sisters were a different story. He was alive when they were born. He watched them grow, just like Bucky had. To see them as aged women, women who were not exactly long for the world? It seemed nearly pointless. But Steve still did it because he loves the Barnes family. They're just as well his as they are Bucky's.

Now it is Bucky's turn to face the last bit of his living past. He feels the loss of Ruth and Becca, he's _been_ feeling it since he found out about their deaths. But now standing here in Becca's favorite weather and smoking Ruth's favorite brand of cigarettes he feels the heaviness of their absence. They are dead and he was alive when it happened. They had funerals and Bucky was off killing against his will. Even fucking Steve got to go to Beck's funeral. Bucky was so close to seeing her, as he looks back at his timeline. Had she hung on a bit longer. Had Steve found him sooner. He could have seen those unforgettable eyes one last time, seen her smart mouth lift up in her beautifully bright smile. He just barely missed her. _He just missed her_.

Bucky's imagined over and over what it would have been like for G to find out he was alive. Not the same way with Steve, the whole superhero narrative woven into a living legend bedtime story but rather as a wanted terrorist. No war hero bullshit to soften the blow. Just the flood of assassinations and horrors, and that barely covered a fraction of the truth. She must have seen him as the world painted him, a murderer. A wanted killer. A threat to her life.

He hovers on the sidewalk before stomping out his cigarette and crossing the street. He's a sight, dressed in his old routine of multiple layers that are sticking heavily to his skin. He reaches the main door of the building and buzzes her room number. He thought about warning her, sending a letter or calling and telling her he wanted to come. That way she could say no. Then he thought about coming in the window in case when he buzzed her she didn't answer. He thought of a thousand scenarios but each of them ended in him turning away without getting a chance to see her. This, asking permission, felt simple enough and good enough to follow through with. She can still say no. He can still leave without holding her one last time.

And that's okay, if she wants it that way. Bucky Barnes will be the last goddamn person on Earth to deny someone of their choice. Even if it breaks his heart.

But as the ringing continues he can't decide if he made the right decision of coming at all. Maybe this is all a mistake and Steve is wrong. She can't love him anymore. She can't possibly forgive him. What does she even know about him? Had she watched the news? Does she believe that he is alive? Did Shield put her through the fucking ringer to try and get to him? Did Hydra, before he burned them all to the ground?

"Yeah, yeah." Comes her gravelly voice through the speaker when the ringing stops. Then the door clicks unlocked and he slips inside while his head spins and spins until he has to lean on the wall inside. _Her voice_. It's all at once the same and entirely different. And she didn't ask who he was or what he wanted. Was she expecting someone else?

Bucky rubs his eyes to shake it off then takes the stairs to her floor. He rushes up them and through the hall as he looks for her door. He's buzzing and shaking as he finds it, stares at the number nailed into the wood. There's a welcome mat in front of the door, dragonflies and flowers greeting him with vibrant colors. He sniffles as he roams his eyes over the minute detail of his baby sister's life. She used to like every thing she ever saw. She liked to collect rocks and flowers and scraps of things his parents had no need for. After rare trips of him and Steve to the beach Bucky would bring back pocketfuls of the best rocks he could find. Steve liked to save the dark ones, sometimes smooth and glittering in the sun. Bucky liked the pink and white ones. Georgie didn't give a shit what kind they were, she liked them just on the basis that they were for her.

Bucky knocks and he hears her muffled _come in_. He doesn't give himself any time to overthink or change his mind, he only forces himself to enter without hesitation. He has faced worse situations, done more harrowing tasks. He can certainly walk into an apartment.

It's warm looking, even just standing in the hall. There are jackets hung and a painting to his left of a sunset through a forest. There are wilted flowers on the table by the door and he taps a brown petal as he walks by. The wood floor creaks under his weight even with the thick cushion of the plush rug he walks on. Halfway down the hall he thinks he should have taken his wet shoes off and toes them off quickly. Becca was always the tidy one but Bucky still has manners.

"I'm in here." She calls from what he peaks around the corner and surmises is her living room. There are three bookshelves, all crammed to the max and still there are stacks haphazardly thrown on top of the shelves. More pictures and paintings are hung around the room and he recognizes his Army photo on the mantle of the boarded up fire place. A love seat faces the fireplace but there is no television in the room. A table in front of the couch has three more stacks of books on it, a candle or two adding to the clutter. One is lit, flickering and filling the air with a floral scent that makes his nose itch.

He walks in slowly but not quietly. He wants her to hear him coming so she isn't startled. It took him quite some time to get used to making noise as he walked after Sam had jumped out of his skin on several occasions. It was funny for a while but now he wants to feel like a real presence in the room. He's tired of being the ghost.

She sits in a chair next to the love seat facing away from him. Her line of sight seeming to be trained on the rain outside the window. He pulls his damp jacket tighter ignoring the discomfort of the wet clothes. His socks eek water onto the wood floor and he nervously rubs it around with his toe as he tries to find his voice.

"Well, get over here, James," Georgie says as she pushes herself up from the chair and turns to look at him. He can't remember how to blink or breath when he hears _James_ cross her lips. Does she know it's him? She never called him by his real name. Nobody fucking did. But the look on her face as she locks her gaze on him confirms that she is not referring to Bucky. She stares at him, brown eyes, the only one of his siblings to get brown eyes, sweeping all over him. There's a long, breathless silence as she takes him in. Then she chokes on a sob and in an instant she is in tears. It is so unlike her, unlike any of his sisters to break down and do so this quickly. But Bucky supposes when it's been a couple decades short of a century she's got the right to a bit of waterworks. "I thought you were my great nephew. You're not. You're - My god, are you real? Are you really there?"

He comes around the chair and stands close, his own eyes betraying him in a salty onslaught of quiet tears. Decades of unfair separation and now he is here. He looks at the wrinkles on her face, the _years_ etched around her trembling lip. He remembers her as a baby. So little and pink and warm when he held her. He remembers the way her tiny toddler voice carried his name when she asked him to play, to pick her up, to put her on his shoulders, to tuck her in when Mama was too busy and Ruth was too independent.

"It's me, I promise. I'm alive. It's Bucky, G. It's me." He reassures her. She stands in front of him staring with wide, wet eyes, handing coming up to cover her open mouth. Her shoulders are starting to shake and he wants to reach out for her, hold her, but he waits, not wanting to frighten her. She finally extends a trembling hand. Her touch is light and reverent on his face. She traces his features then runs a hand through his hair. It's still long and only getting longer. He managed to wash and brush it this morning so her fingers move freely through the strands, tugging on the ends that go past his shoulders. She laughs as she does it and so does he. He can't help it, never could. She was a contagious laugher and that has not changed.

"Still so handsome. So young. I've missed you," She lets out. "All these goddamn years, I've missed you, Bucky." He pulls her to him easily and they hold tight, seventy years of loss being washed off their skin by their own tears.

"I love you. Fuck, I missed you. I love you." Bucky mumbles into her shoulder. She holds his head against her and buries her face in his hair.

"Bucky," She shakes her head. "You don't know what it was like. Living without you. Going on without you. I missed you every minute. I saw you everywhere I went. I couldn't even stay in Brooklyn. I missed you too bad." He cries harder against her, overwhelmed. His fear of facing her rejection or repulsion melts away. He is in her arms now, a role reversal he never saw coming, and she didn't forget about him. He knew it from her stories but some days he couldn't believe those were real.

"I love you." Bucky says again because he has never said those words enough to anyone and won't starve himself any longer.

"Christ," Georgie says and she sounds just like their father. "I love you too. Always."

"I'm sorry it wasn't sooner. It could have been sooner. I wasn't okay. I couldn't be - be around anyone. I thought about you every day. All three of you," He babbles against her. "I'm better now. So much better now. I'm sorry I ever left. I'm sorry I missed your life. I shoulda been there. I wanted to be."

"It's alright, I don't blame you. I don't blame you," She pets his hair, scratches gently at his scalp. "They told me, you know. They came here looking for you but I didn't know anything. Couldn't sleep for days. Thought the news was lying or talking about some other James Buchanan Barnes. But it's you, it's been you. And _I don't blame you_."

"Why not?" Bucky pulls back and looks at her wet cheeks. She fixes him with the same soft eyes he used to see on his mother when she pulled him up to sit on the counter to clean up his bloody knees.

"I know my own goddamn brother. I know you." She grips his neck tight and sends him a devilish smile. It's a sweet effort but it's clear around the edges that she's forcing it.

"Georgie, I've done bad things. I'm not who you think I am." He says it slow, not tearing his eyes away. He needs her to understand this, if anything.

"And neither am I. I was young when you left. A teenager. I wasn't even _me_ yet. It's like we've never met," A few tears slip out of her eyes and he brings his hand up to wipe them, gently, carefully, away. "See," She grabs his hand and keeps it on her cheek. "I never knew a man like you. With all this long hair." Bucky laughs.

"Steve loves it, always has. Wanted it long back then," He lets her run her fingers through it again. She shakes her head. "I like it too. It reminds me that I'm still here, not a ghost."

"You're very right. It does make you feel real. That is just what I mean, I never knew this Bucky then. He wasn't around. I never knew this hair, or this quiet voice. You're so quiet, my god," She laughs wetly then guides them to sit on the couch. He hesitates due to the state of his sopping clothes but she pulls him down without a second thought. She sits to his left and runs a hand over his shoulder, down the empty sleeve. "I never knew this man who had been to war and took too long to come back."

"I'm afraid sometimes that I haven't - I never went home."

"You're here now." She keeps her hand on his shoulder, she can't seem to stop touching him. He reaches over to place his hand on hers.

"Brooklyn isn't home anymore. It hasn't been since 1943. I can't come back here, G. 'M sorry, I don't belong here anymore."

"That isn't what I meant," She grins. "You're home now because you've come to see me. You faced it. You faced me. I can't understand the depths of that difficulty but I saw how hard it was for Steve. And if he, the nomadic disaster that he is, can find home in his past and his present then you can."

"But he hasn't. Shit, that dumb fuck hasn't found home at all. You don't know what he's been like."

"Maybe your ideas of home are different. But why don't you tell me everything, Bucky. We've got quite a bit to catch up on."

And it goes on for hours. Them sitting side by side and laughing and crying and telling stories that make the time pass all too quick. He talks about the war and being there with Steve. He talks about the whirlwind that was Peggy Carter. He talks about missing her funeral. He talks about some rare memories of his time as the Winter Soldier that weren't horrifically gruesome, which means mostly just telling her about Natasha. He tells her about coming back because of Steve and running from him to find himself. He tells her about Wakanda and that's when her eyes become glassy once more. He tells her about the hut he shares with a sometimes there Steve. The hills, the chicken, the goat, the food, the sunsets, the palace, the city, the music, the science. He tells her about not taking the arm they made him. He tells her he's happy, really happy, for the first time in god fucking knows how long.

"I wish I could see you there. I can picture it, those ugly toes in the dirt." She nudges his shoulder.

"I wanna plant a garden. I have vegetables but I want flowers. I want to plant, uh, delphiniums," He bites his lip. "Do you remember writing that? You wrote me and Steve as a delphinium in between pages."

"Oh, Bucky," She smiles around her heavy hearted words. "Of course, of course. I remember."

"You always knew about us?"

"I was twelve when I finally understood. Ruth spelled it out for me. I saw the way you were with each other and I never felt anything but jealously. Oh, I would get so mad when you chose to spend every minute with him. When I'd ask you to spend the night and you said Steve needed you home. I might've hated him for a while, but that couldn't last. I loved that man too. When he showed up a few years ago I couldn't believe my eyes. Steve Rogers in that doorway, _filling up_ that doorway," She laughs and it echoes around the darkening room. "Thought I lost it. I knew what happened to him in the war but to see it for myself. Boy, was I dizzy."

Night comes in a blink and he isn't ready to leave. He can't stay, it's far too dangerous for Georgie to be near him when he's still a wanted man. But when he kisses her on the cheek and promises to visit soon he's shaking.

"It's alright. This was more than enough. And you'll be back soon, Bucky, I know you will," She hugs him again, tight. "I love you, always."

"I love you too, Jesus," He sniffles. "I'll see you soon, kid."

"I'll hold you to it." She smiles big as she watches him walk out the door. He turns and gives her his best rendition of his old charming Bucky Barnes smile. He feels a sliver of that untouchable immortal youth he used to pride himself on. It's a little off-kilter, uncomfortable, and entirely _not_ him anymore but it's muscle memory and she rolls her eyes at him and shoos him away goodnaturedly.

"Alright, alright," He giggles as he starts walking through the hall. "Don't you be getting into any trouble while I'm gone!" He calls over his shoulder.

"You ain't my ma!" She calls back with a laugh. His own laughter rings through the empty hall then he hears her door click shut. He makes for the staircase thinking that if he moves fast enough he won't have time to think about how it's over now and they're both alone again.

* * *

On the ride back he slumps his body in the chair of the jet, exhausted and drained but feeling remarkably, amazingly, like the boy from the rough and dirty city, young and old all at once walking the streets with a blond on his arm. He falls asleep to spinning memories of G and the girls running him wild and teasing him mercilessly. There is one that his mind keeps turning over and over until his body can't stay awake any longer. He dreams of it too, shining and comfortable in the arms of his tired mind.

He was twelve, the brave soaring twelve that got him eyes from the girls in class and sighs from exasperated mothers. Steve had gotten into three fights the past two weeks alone and Bucky was getting fed up with finishing them. They walked back in the heat of August and stopped short outside Bucky's apartment. His sisters, along with the Gardner boys and a few other neighborhood kids, were dancing around in the street while a fire hydrant gushed glinting water all over them. The water caught sunlight and at a certain angle a rainbow misted above them. Bucky eagerly pointed it out to Steve, who could make it out but not in all its chromatic glory. He gave Bucky a tiny smile in response and pulled him forward to join his sisters. Their dresses were soaked and Ruth had gotten to the point where all she wanted to do was sit underneath the shower and let it rain over her. Becca kept kicking her to get her out of the way of the other kids but Ruth stubbornly sat where she was. Georgie caught sight of Bucky and Steve and threw herself at Bucky. She was still just an itty-bitty thing and Bucky couldn't help the boyish giggle that slipped out of him when he picked her up and ran them both through the water. She squealed when he twirled them around, letting every plane of their bodies get drenched in the cool and flickering flood.

The street was filled with playful shrieks and mingling laughter. After G had had enough with her free ride she squirmed out of Bucky's arms and went for Steve. Bucky stopped her and said, "Oh no, kid, it's his turn."

Bucky drew Steve in and with the audience of the whole neighborhood danced him in the downpour with all the steps his mother had taught him and he in turn tried to teach Steve. Bucky remembers feeling invincible in that torrential moment. Nothing could touch him, nothing could come close. It didn't matter that they were dancing chest to chest because they were little boys and it was summer and Bucky's sisters were shouting gleeful encouragements from the sides. Bucky felt Steve laugh in his ear when Becca shouted to Bucky, "Dip him!" and just as ordered he did so with a flourish and a smile. It was a rare instance in their childhood where Steve was not enraged or ashamed at Bucky's public show of dominance. The brilliantly booming sun weaving through the diamondic raindrops had them both in glorious moods. Steve's smile had rivaled the scorching glow from above and Bucky memorized it with rapture.

It was the summer of 1929 and Steve Rogers, small and bony in Bucky's nearly similar form, smiled up at him, makeshift raindrops caught on his eyelashes and lips quirked up in a grin that had always been and always would be meant only for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the Workers of the Rock River Valley Region, I Have an Idea Concerning Your Predicament, and It Involves an Inner Tube, Bath Mats, and 21 Able-bodied Men - Sufjans Stevens
> 
> A few things to consider:
> 
> 1\. If you think I am ever letting Bucky's propensity for naming every single animal he meets a variation of Steve go you are dead wrong.
> 
> 2\. I sobbed as I wrote this lmao
> 
> 3\. I know this took forever to get updated but I've been insanely busy with classes and work and I did not want to rush this chapter because I felt that it was so important. So please forgive me !!!!


	38. I Carry Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
> (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
> and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows  
> higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
> and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
> 
> i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

August 2016

He watches Bucky's toes wriggle in the dirt, sink into the earth deeper. He can almost feel the coolness on his own skin. The way the dirt comes up between his toes and spills over on to the tops of his feet in little mounds and grains. Steve hears a peaceful sigh and wants to breath out relief himself. This is what he's been wanting, for months, for years, his whole life. Since childhood, since birth. He's wanted afternoons and sunny skies and dirty feet with pretty sighs. He's wanted this man, the one who sits contented in front of him, finally managing to find peace.

He watches Bucky's eyes wander from where their browned feet slot together in the dirt up Steve's tanned legs, over his Wakandan issued clothes. The way he drinks him in makes Steve's throat go dry. He returns the appreciative once over, how can he not when Bucky is sitting there looking like _that?_

He looks like a portrait of an ancient man, a marble statue of a deity long forgotten. His jaw, his chin, his lips. It's like water falling over rocks. It's like watching clouds move across the sky. He's fucking unreal. Bucky's eyes drift closed and one side of his mouth quirks up as he takes in the heat of the day on his pink cheeks, something Steve has seen him do since they were children.

"Are you blushing for me?" Steve asks. He leans forward, hugging his knees. They're sitting across from one another in the tilled earth with various tools lying forgotten around them. Empty seed pouches and old plastic pots are strewn about and one of the goats noses at one. Steve whistles to get him to knock it off. He bleats and runs to join the other two new additions in the thick grass.

"Not a chance, you ugly duck. Was just thinking of Thor without a shirt. Goddamn, I gotta meet him." Bucky replies with his eyes closed. Then Steve laughs and kicks a bare foot at Bucky's knee. He giggles and wastes not a second in knocking Steve over inches away from the flowers they spent the whole day planting. Bucky drops all his weight on him and Steve makes like he's choking.

"Christ, you've gotten heavy. What do they feed you here?" Steve blows some of Bucky's hair out of his face but it comes right back and tickles his nose. He runs his hands up Bucky's sides then brushes his hair behind his ears so he can see those blue grey eyes.

"It's actually this new ass eating diet I'm on. You should try it." Bucky beams at him like he's made the best joke in the world then leans down and bites Steve's jaw.

"Fuck," Steve bellows out a deep laugh shaking Bucky on top of him. "I think I will."

"Thank God, I was getting bored."

"How can you not be exhausted? You had us out here all day digging in the dirt." Steve turns his head to the side to study the rows of flowers and bushes planted around the hut and more.

"Yeah, I worked so hard my arm fell off." Bucky trails his nose up and down Steve's throat then licks behind his ear. It's all Steve can do not to shiver at the contact.

"You're not funny." Steve gripes.

"I'm extremely funny and you don't deserve me."

"Well that part's true." Steve whispers against Bucky's warm mouth. They kiss softly and slowly with Bucky purposefully making himself heavier on top of Steve to get him squirming.

"Let's go inside and fuck maybe." Bucky murmurs against his lips.

"Maybe." Steve murmurs back. Bucky pulls them up then Steve follows him inside where they fall against each other in loud moans and unashamed trembles of anticipation. In this new age every time feels like the first and the last all at once. It's like a flame, smaller than a thumbprint, melting down the wax until nothing stands. Steve has been back for a week since returning from his second trip out into the world. His last mission took him to Brazil where his nose burned for a day then went back to normal. Natasha spent that night peeling his skin off while Sam moaned his disgust from the sidelines.

"That's just gross." Sam had said while covering his eyes with both hands.

"You just wish it was you getting all the attention, Samuel." Natasha replied with a smile. She had cut her hair short, nearly to the scalp and dyed what was left black.

Bucky gently pushes Steve down onto the bed then climbs on top of him. Before he leans down to continue his good work he twists his body to reach for the little curtain that covers the modest window above the bed. He pinches the fabric between his fingers and pulls it back a sliver so that the afternoon light tickles Steve's torso and face. The light makes him glow, Steve knows, because Bucky is looking at him like he's set hotly alight. Maybe he is, he feels like he might be and when Bucky puts his hand back on Steve, running it over his skin, he believes he might really be on fire after all.

Steve moans Bucky's name and Bucky hums encouragement while he begins rocking against him. Steve holds Bucky to him tight, with his arms, with his mouth, with his legs. Bucky, though he remains on top, goes pliant in Steve's grip.

Summer in Wakanda is winding down. The days have peaked in heat and from here it will plateau then cool off in just a few weeks. Bucky is waiting with baited breath for the sun to _chill the fuck out, Christ. I'll take this bullshit over the cold, believe me Rogers, but that don't make it any less bullshit._ Steve agrees heartily, neither of them have been much for cold weather since...well probably since Steve caught his first goddamn cold when he was little.

Bucky is looking more at home every day. Akhona, the woman who lives nearest to Bucky and who has been a steady gifter of various animals to him, gave Bucky another two goats three days ago. Steve asked Bucky if he thought she was dying or something with all her giving away but Bucky said her husband had died last year and her son had moved out and away from farm life to pursue a career in the city. Akhona was just skimming things down to a manageable livelihood. Bucky visits her every few days to do anything she'll let him do for her but she's so stubborn he only ends up doing an hours work before being shooed off her land.

Bucky is still steadily naming his bleating companions after Steve in different and exasperating ways. Steve actively avoids directly addressing the animals to Bucky's frustration. Bucky has been keeping busy and Steve is grateful. After his first return Bucky was quiet and distant. He hardly looked at Steve but wouldn't let him out of sight just the same. They barely spoke the first few days then Bucky whispered to him in the night everything he hadn't said since Steve came back to him. It began with telling Steve about his visit with Georgie. And then it ended with Bucky saying how empty he felt out here sometimes, without her and without Steve. It was a knife to the gut Steve knew had been coming. Steve just tucked Bucky's freshly washed head of hair under his chin and let Bucky shiver against him. Steve knew he was angry with him, he had hinted to it before he left. But he felt it then, in the cool dark. He could feel the heat of his lingering anger and most of all, his hurt. But that wasn't enough to stop Steve from leaving again. How could it be? Steve wasn't allowed to be selfish. He's never been allowed to be selfish.

Bucky tends to his vegetables, his neighbors, the children, his goat (now _goats_ ) and his chicken, and he makes sure to make it to the lab at least once a week to work with Shuri. He's been motivated to learn everything he can from her. He had always loved science with a captivating passion. Steve fondly remembers him lugging old science books home and stacking them around in haphazard positions. Now, Bucky is learning firsthand and he tells Steve every detail of the new things he's discovering. Some of it's basic, grade school hypotheses and facts, but other things are complicated and far more advanced than Steve, and most of the rest of the world's population outside of Shuri's lab, can comprehend. But he listens and learns from Bucky, easily. Bucky's lips curve the same way and his hand gestures wildly but perfectly the same as it did in 1934 when he discovered black holes.

In the lazy summer light Steve flips them over and roams a hand down between Bucky's legs. It takes a few minutes but Steve gets him writhing and begging then Steve is slipping himself inside Bucky's tightness. It's slow today, unlike it has been the past few days. It was hurried and frantic with their missing of each other. But here, they have a chance to feel one another, rememorize the planes of skin expanding around them for miles. There is no racing and barely any teasing. It's deep and canorous, whispering and even sweet, like when Bucky kisses Steve's nose when he's already spent and it's Steve's turn to let go inside him.

When they are laying together in the setting sun that pushes a gilded orange glow through the window Bucky rests his forehead, sticky with sweat, against Steve's cheek.

"Did you know that the Earth is self correcting?" Bucky mumbles against Steve.

"Hmm?" Steve hums, trying to hang on to consciousness.

"If we set this whole fucking place on fire, like the whole country, the whole continent, the whole world," Bucky pushes himself up on his elbow to look down at Steve. Steve reluctantly peels open his eyes. "Nature's gonna fix it someday. Maybe a really, really long time. Centuries or whatever but she's still gonna do it. The world is still gonna turn and trees are gonna grow again and caterpillars are still gonna turn into butterflies even if me and you are ash under their wings."

"You trying to say something here, Buck?"

"Well, yeah. I'm trying to say Earth is pretty badass, Steve," Bucky rolls his eyes. "And, I don't know. It's always been like that. The dinosaurs got merked-"

"Extinct, I think, is usually the word used to describe that event. But okay."

"-And the Earth bounced back and here _we_ are. But get this: the sun is going to die in like, half a million years. And when it does it's going to heat, just get hot as fucking hell, and boil all the water on Earth. Then it'll be gone and we won't have a chance 'til some poor other bastard comes shining into our system but that's gonna be hard as fuck because-"

"Bucky, honey," Steve lifts a hand to rub his own nose and tries to curl up on his side, facing inwards towards Bucky so that when he finally lays back down Bucky will hold him. "I love you, I love you with everything I got pal, with all the strength left in our one-day-is-going-to-die sun. But is there a point here?"

"My point is we're going to die." Bucky says seriously. Steve pops his eyes open again to take in Bucky's somber expression.

"Is that news?"

"Me and you. We've done it before, but it didn't stick. But it'll happen. And I want-" Bucky cuts himself off and takes a breath. He drops his gaze and finally relaxes next to Steve facing him with their noses bumping. "I got no hope for dying a martyr or a hero or someone to be remembered. I never wanted that anyway. I just wanted you. I still want you. But now more than ever, with all the days you stay away, I want this one thing."

"What do you want?" Steve prompts.

"I think we deserve to die together. Maybe like this, yeah? Old and sleepy, fucking wrinkles and no teeth. We might take a while to do it, like the sun, but when we burn out I want it to be together. I wanna spend all my energy with you. I wanna heat up the galaxy with you then die. Imagine if the sun could breathe and when she, with all her might, pushed out that last bit of radiant heat she took one last breath and all the planets could hear it and they'd weep maybe, for their longest friend who had lived and died and did it for them." Steve stares at him, the way he casts his eyes down when he finishes speaking, and feels awe. Sometimes Steve forgets how beautiful Bucky can speak. He knew it when they were kids and Bucky would tell him stories and paint lies. He knew it in the war, too, when Bucky would get tired and spin promises or worries that made Steve's heart pound. He takes in the melody of Bucky' words now, so much more articulate and sweet than anything Steve could throw together. But what he means, what Bucky is asking of Steve isn't so easy as the way his voice sounds in Steve's ears.

"I wanna promise you that but you know I can't." Steve finally responds.

"Yeah," Bucky agrees sadly. "I know it, pal. But maybe when you get tired, because you will get tired, you'll return from war like the rest of those bastards that weren't lucky enough to die with us. And I'll be waiting. You can't promise me a damn thing, I know, but I can promise you that. I'll be waiting."

"I'll be seeing you." Steve echoes the words of an old love song and Bucky's face does something funny.

" _I'll find you in the morning sun_ ," Bucky sings, it's really a whisper but it lulls Steve into a trance. " _And when the night is new. I'll be looking at the moon. But I'll be seeing you._ " Then he kisses Steve's nose again and their eyes fall shut.

Another week passes by in marvels at the garden they planted together and kisses they gave each other. One morning, with the sun burning hot and alive on the horizon Steve walks back up the hill leaving Bucky behind again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i carry your heart - Eric Whitacre
> 
> The song Bucky sings at the end is "I'll Be Seeing You" sung by Jo Stafford :))
> 
> The next chapter will have.......Conflict.


	39. But I Say That He's Eternally Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying that we'll run away  
> I doubt that we'll ever go  
> I hope the sunset will stay  
> We traveled too far from home
> 
> Baby we don't need a hero  
> I have never been a hero  
> Girl, I've always been a zero  
> Baby you should be the hero  
> Baby you should be the hero

October 2016

"Hey," Bucky says as he stands up from a crouch where he was stoking a modest fire out in front of his hut. When Steve comes closer Bucky pulls him into a hug. "How ya been?"

"Just fine. You, pal?" Steve asks with a tired smile. He's a little battered after his last mission in Belarus but he grips Bucky tight regardless. The sun has set and the sky hovers inky and clear above them. Steve buries his nose in Bucky's hair. It smells like warm earth and hints of sweat.

"Just fine," Bucky echoes. "Wanda tells me your friend is stopping by." As he says it, Wanda creeps out from the hut with a sheepish smile and one of Bucky's blankets wrapped around her shoulders.

"I didn't know Wanda was coming too." Steve remarks as he steps away from Bucky to bring her into a hug.

"Thought maybe I could help," She says slipping her arms around his middle. One end of her blanket slips off her shoulder and Steve grabs the corner to keep it out of the dirt.

"We need help?" Steve's eyebrows shoot up.

"Maybe." She winks and shuffles over to warm herself in front of the fire. Bucky follows and they lower themselves to the thin rug Bucky has laid out for them to sit on. Steve watches for a beat before taking a seat on Bucky's other side. The rug is only so big so Steve ends up sitting half in the dirt and half on the coarse material.

"When'd you get in, kid?" Steve asks pulling his knees up and staring at the fire. Bucky leans into his side.

"This morning. Me and Vis were already on the continent so it didn't take long to get here after you called to say _stay away_."

"And look at you," Bucky says looking over at Wanda. "Here anyway."

"What can I say?" She cocks her head eerily similar to the way Steve does when he thinks he's being smart. Bucky snorts.

"Conflict came-a-calling, Stevie. Shouldn't the rest of your team be here by now?" Bucky turns back to ask. He shifts his bare feet closer to the flames, exposing their soles to the heat. It isn't cold out yet, and it won't be as cool as anything they've ever been familiar with when the winter months come in, but nonetheless, a slight autumnal chill permeates the air.

"I told them to stay put. It's not like he asked to see us. He's here for T'Challa." Steve replies, itching an eyebrow with his thumb.

"Still hasn't called you?" Wanda asks with a sympathetic edge to her voice. Steve shakes his head.

"Hmm," Bucky considers him. "You gonna head up tomorrow when he gets here? Talk to him?"

"Why would I do that?" Steve grumbles. When the silence hangs a beat too long he looks up at Bucky and Wanda who blink blankly back at him. Finally, Bucky acknowledges him with, "Because you care about him? Jesus, what'd you come here for if you don't wanna see him? Don't bullshit and say it's for me."

"Just wanted to be here in case." Steve tells him. Truthfully, Steve doesn't have a reason to back himself up. He doesn't know, one way or the other, if he's here for Bucky, Tony, or himself.

"In case what?" Wanda asks. She rolls forward onto her knees to get a better look at him. She tugs the blanket tighter and Steve notices it's the one Georgie sent (securely and through a trusted network; otherwise known as Natasha) to Bucky a couple weeks ago. He hadn't known it was coming and pulled Natasha in tight when she handed it over to him. It was unspoken, ex-soviet killer to ex-soviet killer, that Natasha would be the one to keep an eye on his family. One day, as it seems, she decided to introduce herself and Georgie took it from there.

"He's not coming anywhere near you, Buck." Steve says turning his chin up at the fire like he's already preparing for the fight. Bucky shrugs next to him and puffs out a humorless laugh.

"I don't know, Stevie. Maybe he should. Maybe he wants to talk it out this time, with you. Not me."

"I don't-"

"Shut up," Bucky interrupts. "Just shut up. He's your friend, your teammate. I don't know, you know? I- I woulda come after me too. You can't blame him." He looks Steve square in the eye, waiting for him to rise to the challenge.

"Stop that. You wouldn't have. And I don't blame anyone but Zemo. And Hydra." Steve assures him with a set to his jaw. There's no reasoning with Steve when he's like this, but Bucky plows on, true to his nature and true to the idea that Steve's could change, at least for this.

"Just saying that maybe you should try and work things out. Ain't no sense in what you're doing now. He's your friend." Bucky nods at the fire.

"You know that?" Steve asks looking down at the ground between his knees.

"Yeah, you dumb fuck, I do. He's your fucking friend." Bucky reaches out a hand to lift Steve's face up. Steve keeps his eyes averted from Bucky's and Bucky squeezes his jaw a little tighter.

"He tried to kill you." Steve murmurs.

"I killed-"

"He tried to kill you. In front of me." Steve interjects and his eyes finally flick over to Bucky's.

"Fuck, are we having this fight again?"

" _In front of me._ " Steve reiterates and Bucky removes his hand.

"Is this for once not all about me then?" Bucky laughs. "You're mad because he blew my arm off and made _you_ watch? It's about his nerve to wrong you?" Steve catches a glimpse of Wanda over Bucky's shoulder and sees her wince.

"No, Jesus," Steve shakes his head. "He was just wrong. It's not just about you or me. Just like it isn't just about the Accords. It's everything, Buck. I don't want him here. You created this life for yourself, for us. I don't want him here."

"He won't come down here. Why don't we meet him up there?" Bucky asks. Steve stares back at him.

" _We?_ "

"Yeah, you think I won't be waiting in the shadows eaves dropping? It's called moral support."

"That might not be a good idea." Wanda pipes up.

"Steve didn't leave me. Why would I leave him?" Bucky tells her with a smile. Steve bites his tongue as he watches the titian reflections of the flames skitter and jump across Bucky's sharp features. It was no secret that Tony had been trying to visit Wakanda, if not to reconcile with T'Challa or the fugitives he had an inkling might be hiding there, then to see the wonder of the place and try his luck at making new friends. He hadn't bothered to call Steve once, however. T'Challa saw no harm in hosting Tony for a day, especially if that meant his badgering would stop. T'Challa had already been to the U.S. to see him on his soil but Tony made a case for getting himself here. And that had supposedly worn the King down. Now Tony was en route and set to arrive in the late morning tomorrow.

"He can't see you. You know that." Steve levels him with a look. He'd prefer that Bucky'd stay here, and that's _if_ Steve decided to go see Tony at all.

"I know, Steve. But I can't sit here. Not when it's my fault in the first place that you guys are split."

"Buck," Steve closes his eyes. "I'm not gonna tell you again that it wasn't your fault." When he opens his eyes back up Bucky is looking at him with resigned annoyance.

"Shit, sorry Ma," Bucky rolls his eyes. "Just go see him tomorrow. Don't lie to me and say you don't want to."

"Even if I did want to, I don't know if it's wise."

"Pal, you ain't done a wise thing in your goddamn life. I'll be with you. Just go." Bucky stares long at Steve until he uncoils his body and nods in acquiescence.

"I think it's a good idea, Steve. He misses you. You miss him." Wanda adds. Steve nods again and searches for a way to change the subject.

"Where's Vision, Wanda?" Steve asks. She squirms a little and looks away.

"Kenya." She supplies after a moment.

"Doing what?" Bucky asks.

"Uh, sightseeing."

"Why didn't you bring him?" Steve asks.

"I don't know, it's been weird lately. I think I-" She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. Steve and Bucky share a glance. "Just needed space. No big deal."

"Hey, I know how that feels. I can't catch a motherfucking break with this one." Bucky says inclining his head towards Steve. Steve knocks into his shoulder in response.

"If you could glue me to your back you would." Steve grunts.

"Sounds uncomfortable." Wanda makes a face.

"But convenient." Bucky offers.

"For who?" Asks Wanda.

"Well, me, definitely," Bucky replies. Then, "Hey, kid?"

"What?"

"Steve says you got a thing for stars." And with that statement Wanda softens.

"A little. I think I've got a thing for everything." She sighs.

"Why don't you paint a picture of the night sky for us then?" Bucky asks. Steve feels a warmth run through him at Bucky's earnestness. This is as much for him to hear about stars, which he loves, as it is for Wanda to not have to speak about her and Vision's complicated relationship or for Steve to not have to think about Tony. Wanda grins and they lay down to get a better look at the sky. Steve is laying on Bucky's left so with no hand to hold he reaches down and fits his hand into the pocket of Bucky's pants. Bucky shakes next to him in a silent laugh. Steve joins in and wiggles his fingers inside the pocket.

* * *

When the morning comes Steve finds himself looking absently at the patterns painted on the ceiling above him. Wanda is still fast asleep in the bed and Bucky is cuddled up with Steve on the ground. The black and gold emulations mill above him reminiscent of an artist Shuri had introduced Steve and Bucky to; a British-Liberian woman named Lina Viktor. The designs are captivating and vibrant and adhering to a modern form of liveliness that causes Steve to become caught in unyielding rapture. They're new, the patterns, they were not here the last time Steve was in Wakanda and he wonders who spent the time, the laborious hours, filling that space. A sniffle and a yawn to Steve's right grabs at his attention and he pulls his eyes away to see Bucky looking back at him.

"I did it." Bucky whispers to him. Steve gapes at him with impressed wonder. He looks back up at the patterns then down to Bucky again.

"You painted all that?" Steve asks. Bucky nods with a shy smile. Steve can't quite tell, because the hut is still dark with only the faintest of morning blue creeping through the fabric covering the window, but he thinks Bucky might be blushing.

"I know you're the artist but I wanted something to focus on. And I'm trying new things."

"It looks like those pieces Shuri is so fond of." Steve remarks.

"Yes, Shuri was a big influence. Wouldn't leave me alone the whole time I was doing it. It was nice though, she coached me on what I should put up there." Bucky shifts from his side to his back so he can look up as well.

"Beautiful, Buck." Steve turns his head back to look at Bucky and moves forward to nuzzle his nose into the hollow of Bucky's cheek.

"Yeah," He breathes. "It is."

Before the sun can fully rise Bucky is up and out to tend to his animals and his garden. Steve follows, ghosting around _like a useless scarecrow, Christ, come over here and feed the chicken, Steven._ Steve reluctantly helps and soon Wanda is appearing at their sides to pet the goats. When the sun bears down mid morning T'Challa calls Bucky and notifies them of the arrival of a certain someone.

It takes a couple minutes of silent deliberation on Steve's part for them to finally begin the trek up to the palace. Bucky slips his fingers into Steve's hand as Wanda leads the way.

"Chill out." Bucky murmurs to Steve. Steve looks over and sees an encouraging smile on Bucky's lips, and under that the nervous energy. He can tell he's trying to make this easier but Steve's stomach is still turning. Steve offers a tight smile back then looks away.

Inside the palace, Shuri greets them.

"Hello, friends," She smiles brightly at the three of them and dispenses her hugs. "My brother asked me to bring you up to see your...Tony Stark. He seems every bit the man I've heard about. Are you all coming?" She glances at Bucky apprehensively.

"Just walking them up. Figured I'll hang back with you." Bucky gives her a relaxed grin and slings his arm over her shoulder. They begin walking and Shuri leans into Bucky to murmur, "You think I'm going to miss _this_? You can hang back by yourself, brother."

She leads them to a room where they can see through the glass door that Tony is currently talking the ear off of some Dora Milaje. Steve's nerves do not subside when he catches sight of him looking as expensive as ever. Steve requested that T'Challa not notify Tony that he was coming and now Steve is wondering if that was the right choice. It's not that he didn't want things between him and Tony to smooth over. And it's not like he expected Tony to be the one to reach out first. But regardless, it's a hard conversation that's going to happen and a part of him wishes he could avoid it entirely. At least for a few more months, or a year, or a fucking lifetime.

A gentle hand at the small of his back drags him from his thoughts.

"Wanda will be with you, pal. Go mend some bridges." Bucky whispers, watching Steve with ardent worry. Steve is grateful for him, for Bucky's selflessness and his unwavering reassurance. It hits him so suddenly, so deeply that he wishes this was something he could do with Bucky still at his side.

"Okay." Steve replies and before he can lose his nerve he follows Wanda as she pushes through the door. It's one long stretch of floor to ceiling windows to the right and a handful of chairs and a sofa arranged in the far left corner. Other than that, it is a relatively open space that seems full with the company it holds. At the last second Steve looks over his shoulder to see Bucky slink out of sight. Steve knows he won't go far but he can't help wishing he was still at his side. Steve takes a deep breath and meets Wanda's eye. She looks pensive, maybe just as ill at ease as Steve, but to steady him, perhaps to steady them both, she wraps her pinky around his. He steels himself and turns his head towards the figure still chattering away to T'Challa. Shuri appears at her brother's side and nudges him to attention.

"Tony." Steve says and Tony turns around to face him. He doesn't look surprised, not even angry, but he also doesn't look like he was expecting to see _Steve_. It takes five seconds of tense, awkward silence, in which Steve can feel everyone around him calculating their movements and breaths, for Tony to find his voice.

"Rogers. Fancy seeing you here." Tony addresses him. Steve takes a steadying breath as he listens to the familiar sound of Tony's voice. They had never quite reached an especially dependable or reliable friendship, but rather cultivated a careful, precarious attachment that spoke measure to family rather than friendship. And that had seemed enough these past few years, to consider Tony, to even consider the team, a sort of family. But Bucky shattered that, without even meaning to. He reminded Steve what family had actually felt like, what love had felt like. The Avengers had taken a crack at it but at the end of the day they were all too fractured, too broken in their own right, to let themselves take to one another with abandon.

"I heard you were coming." Steve forces out.

"Do you live here now? Or, what, passing through? I was just trying to eek out of T'Challa how he liked hiding fugitives. Wouldn't admit to it." Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets and eyes Steve and Wanda up and down. "It took me longer than it should've, I think. To figure out where you were. And here you are."

"I heard you were coming. I wanted to see how you were," Steve gets right to it. Wanda's pinky tightens on his. "Tony, I-"

"Didn't say much, regal bastard. Guess he understands it more than I do." Tony barrels on like Steve never spoke, looking hard at him.

"Understands what?" Steve plays along. Tony takes another pause and shakes his head at Steve.

"Maybe I thought about it once or twice. Never before I met you. Hardly at all after. But when you wanted me to fund your Captain America's Most Wanted routine after D.C. I thought fuck, there's more to it right? And then Siberia. Yeah, I didn't really get it then. Maybe I still don't. But you gave a lot up. You gave up the Avengers for him. Gave up me for him. You gave up Captain America for him. So maybe, since you're here, you can say it." Tony says it with leveled indignation, as if he's tired but still holding on to his remaining threads of anger.

"'Scuse me?" Steve unconsciously takes a step closer, his grip on Wanda loosening.

"I said I don't fucking get it. Explain it to me, Rogers, because it doesn't make sense." Tony cocks his head at Steve and waits.

"I don't-"

"Don't play dumb, Rogers. It's not the thirties. I'm not going to string you up. I just wanna hear from your mouth to my awaiting ears that you'd rather stand with the man who killed my parents than stand with your friends. _Your family._ A man who killed more than-"

"Enough." Steve nearly shouts. The Dora Milaje around the room tense and Shuri looks nervously between everyone and the door.

"Listen, Cap," Tony keeps his voice measured and calm. Steve flinches at the title. "I don't wanna argue with you. But the least you can do is just say it."

"Stop." Steve grits out.

"Say it, goddamnit. You watched the same video I did. You saw it. You know what he did."

"I said stop!" Steve screws his eyes shut. He was somewhat better since Siberia with the therapy Bucky encouraged him to do and the relief of knowing Bucky was alive and breathing and _safe_. He was finding a balance between this new Steve in Wakanda and man on the run to the anachronistic Captain of before. Seeing Tony brought everything he used to feel back, the parts of him he had been so close to mending, sealing up.

"Mr. Stark, this may be-" T'Challa begins in an effort to quell the rising tension. Tony speaks over him.

"Just open my eyes, Rogers! Tell me why you did what you did."

"Nothing is gonna make you understand. I can't- there's no- I don't-" Steve stutters and takes a couple stumbling steps back, slipping out of Wanda's grasp. He isn't sure why he is being so quick to panic but the nervousness creeps thickly up his spine and in his throat. He hadn't wanted to fight Tony those few months ago, he hadn't ever wanted to hurt Tony. He still doesn't wish to do so. But the frustration he's been working so hard to manage is blackening his vision. He takes another deliberate step backwards.

"You don't what? What is your excuse? I don't fucking get it!" Tony begins following Steve's desperate steps back but Wanda cuts between them.

“Tony!” Wanda cries out. “Would you just look!” And she steps forward, raises her hands and the world changes around them. Tony startles at the shift. T'Challa steps forward and Shuri grabs his arm, Okoye and the other guards brace themselves. More insistent is the pressure at Steve's back when a new presence rushes to his side, a hand grabbing at the fabric of his shirt.

"Stev-" Bucky's voice gets lost in the scene that takes over before them. The room disappears and it feels as though they have been transported to a dirty, greasy looking street flanked by brick buildings and barking dogs. Steve recognizes it immediately, knows in his bones the smell of this Brooklyn street. His heart races and he can feel Bucky's pick up where he presses protectively against him.

They all watch much younger versions of Steve and Bucky, as little boys, practically toddlers, pick themselves up off the sidewalk.

_“No, why’d you fight ‘em? They were throwing rocks at me. You shoulda left it alone! I coulda-”_

_“What?” Bucky yells. “Are you kidding me?” Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. Bucky just gathers in real close to spit in his face, “Listen here you little punk, there ain’t gonna be a day I won’t stick up for you! For us!”_

_“Fine!” Steve blows out a breath and pushes Bucky out of his space leaving a little blood on Bucky’s wrinkled blue shirt. But the effort is pointless because Bucky comes right back in grabbing Steve’s face with one hand and-_

Tony leans in as the room watches a six year old Bucky Barnes lean into a grumpy looking five year old Steve to steal a kiss. The scene changes and they are sent through new moments in quick succession; some drag enough for dialogue to be heard. The little boys grow up with each other, laughing and dancing and crying. They chase each other ragged and dance in front of a smiling Sarah the clumsy way little children do. Then they get older and the moments become less lighthearted. Their voices lose their fervor and their winding smiles wane.

_“‘M not your woman, Barnes. I don’t need a check-in.” Steve mutters in the dark._

_“I know, Steve.” Bucky sighs._

Steve blinks rapidly, hoping these boys are just distant visions swimming before him that he can will away and not Wanda's doing. He wants these cruel reminders of what he used to have to disappear. He doesn't need any more admonitions of the past. He can feel the real Bucky tug at him like he wants him to leave but Steve is glued to the spot watching and waiting for the ghosts of their long dead youth to vanish on their own.

_“We’re not kids anymore, Buck.” He whispers glancing down at the pink lips that were on him a second ago._

_“Who says we gotta be?” Bucky’s brows draw together and, great, now it looks like he could cry too._

_“I’m saying you gotta know what you’re doing before you do it.” Steve warns but every part of him wants this._

_“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Bucky is whispering but he sounds angry regardless sending a chill through Steve’s body._

The next scene shows them giggling and holding each other up outside a dance hall in the dark, young Bucky lighting a cigarette and kissing young Steve on his exhale so young Steve winds up coughing a fit on the sidewalk. Young Bucky is apologizing profusely but young Steve laughs it off and pulls him close, kissing him back in a rush of laughter and smoke. The Steve of here and now chokes on air at the sudden recollection of this small moment and hears behind him the choked off noise coming from his Bucky.

_When they get in bed Bucky starts out with as much distance between them as possible but as soon as Steve registers the shaking he moves in close, wrapping himself around Bucky's trembling body. It was like this when his father passed, the silent tears that stretched into nighttime breakdowns._

_"Steve." Bucky mumbles between sobs. "Steve. Steve."_

_"I know, Buck," He whispers back. "I'm sorry, I know." Bucky turns around in his arms and tucks his mess of brown hair underneath Steve's chin, wetting Steve's collarbone with tears and snot and broken phrases of grief._

Real time Bucky stifles a sob and pulls again at the back of Steve's shirt. Steve remembers the solemn day of Winnie's funeral. He remembers the mud stains on Bucky's suit where he was kneeling in the damp earth at his parents' graves. Wanda keeps on with her projections, her eyes a hazy red as she molds the atmosphere around them to look like a fire escape. Steve isn't sure as he glances at her that she really knows the extent of what she's doing. But maybe she's caught up in herself, just as Steve is caught up in watching.

_“We don’t got any money for a picture. Besides, we’ve seen that three times already,” Steve gripes. “Let’s just stay home. I don’t feel like doing anything.”_

_“Anything, Rogers?” Bucky gives Steve a look that makes his breath hitch. Steve watches Bucky bite his lip and lean forward with hooded eyes. “Anything?”_

_“I don’t know. I could think of one thing I’d be up for,” Steve hums as Bucky inches closer and closer. A hand traces a pattern on Steve’s thigh, teasing him as it heads up and down. “Might want to take it inside though.”_

*

_“Maria from Queens keeps tryna court me.” Bucky flicks away a cigarette butt. He's taken to smoking a lot more lately, even in front of Steve. He's careful with the smoke, never blows it near him and never smokes inside the apartment. But still, Steve notices, its becoming a habit. He doesn't exactly mind seeing as how achingly magnificent he looks when he does it, like he's a silver screen beauty gracing the dirty streets of Brooklyn on his night off. Steve swears he's far too pretty for the likes of this shoddy neighborhood and the way his cheeks hollow out when he inhales the smoke...it's fucking cataclysmic._

_“Tell her to fuck off.” Steve says kicking a stone out of the way._

*

_"No, listen," Bucky sets his stare on Steve, pinning him down. "Maybe I'm like my mama. I love a little too hard. Maybe it's gonna kill me someday like it did her. But I don't care if it's you, Steve. I want it to be you. I'd want it to be you in any version of our lives. Even if we weren't together like in the book. I'd die for you without fucking blinking. And this war...if I go-"_

"Wanda!" Shuri's voice tries to cut through. But it is no use, she has started and now Wanda has to see it through. Steve feels the urge to sink to the floor but instead turns into Bucky to drop some of his weight on him. Bucky readily wraps an arm around him and tries to shuffle them away.

_“I’m not stopping. And for the life of me I don’t get why you haven’t even started.” Steve whispers back. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood._

_“I enlisted already. I’m leaving in seventeen days.”_

"Steve please," Bucky says desperately in Steve's ear. "Let's get out. I can't-"

_And now while they lay in the mud it's the ghost of that look that clings to the tired outlines of Bucky’s war torn smile._

*

_“What?” Bucky suddenly asks. “You miss me or somethin’?” Bucky quirks a small smile after catching Steve’s watery stare._

_“What the hell, Buck?” Steve whisper yells shifting his eyes back and forth between Buck’s sinful smile and the closed door. They were back in London planning something that seemed a lot bigger and badder than anything they'd done before. Steve was taking it seriously, so was Bucky but, come on. Alone? In a whole room with a table and not a broom closet? It was an obvious invitation Bucky wholeheartedly blamed the U.S. Army for._

_“What? Nobody’s here, Stevie,” Bucky nibbles on Steve's earlobe making him shiver. “Let me touch you.”_

Another flickering scene plays out where Steve and Bucky are crowded together in a foxhole, Steve tracing patterns on Bucky's cheek while he succumbs to sleep it looks like he's been fighting off. Then they are sitting around a fire with the Commandos laughing their asses off at nothing either the real Steve nor Bucky can remember. The world shifts from forest to small room where a pair of undressed soldiers are arguing on a bed.

_"I can't count on that, sweetheart. You aren't stronger than God or the devil. You're just like the rest of us. You bleed. You die. That's how it works," Bucky watches the twitch of Steve's lips waiting for him to keep arguing but by some divine intervention he shuts up._

Bucky stumbles as Steve shifts his weight in his grasp to get a better look at the old them transforming from their spot on that slightly damp-from-bath-water bed to the dimly lit alley behind that bar in London.

_"Don't call me boy, Buck."_

_"Do somethin' 'bout it," So Steve does. He bites at Bucky's taunting mouth until they're both tasting blood._

One more flash of them and the Commandos having a last laugh and then there comes a train cutting through the snowy mountainside. This part is slowest, or maybe it just seems that way because both the Steve and Bucky of now relive this so often in the night.

Bucky almost has Steve to the door when the final memory begins it's theatrical debut. This memory has real time Bucky cry out, because he was never there, he had died. This is all from Steve's head and as it plays out Steve can only look away and curl in on himself while the Valkyrie soars into the ice. Peggy's voice crackles on the radio and 1945 Steve's face is focused in fear and commitment. Then there is blackness all around them as it crashes, shaking the room and propelling it into uncomfortable shadows. Real time Steve can even feel the cold and see his breath huff out in front of him. Bucky stops struggling to get them out of the room and instead begins muttering under his breath. It makes Steve look up again.

There, in the middle of the room, an icy blue glow begins to grow until 1945 Steve's body is seen shivering and gasping for breath. There is the sound of water rushing in from somewhere and the groan of heavy metal sinking slowly into the arctic.

"Bucky." 1945 Steve's voice rings around them. Then a mirage, a hallucination of Bucky looking young and clean is walking towards a battered Steve who chokes on water. Real time Steve gags as the feeling washes over him and his knees finally give out. Bucky falls to the floor with him.

"Wanda!" Bucky shouts and Steve shivers again. "Please!"

"Sweetheart," The ghost of Bucky Barnes says before kneeling over 1945 Steve's dying form and resting his forehead against him. He looks happy like what's happening isn't at all happening. " _You followed me_." Then the ghost Bucky lays down next to 1945 Steve and wraps an arm over his middle. The room watches this old, unseen and forgotten Steve choke on one last breath before the vision fades out and they're back in the over bright room.

Tony looks stricken, sick, and finds a wall to lean against as he thinks. T'Challa tries to stop Shuri from racing over to Steve and Bucky but she does anyhow and crouches down where Bucky holds a withered Steve Rogers. She brushes hair off of Steve's forehead and rests her hand there like she's checking for a fever. It's exactly what Bucky would be doing if his only hand wasn't occupied clutching Steve as tight as possible. Bucky looks up at the others in the room and tries to catch his breath.

"Do you get it now?" Bucky's ragged voice carries in the echo of the room. Tony's head snaps up and he swallows and looks away from Bucky. He nods, more to himself, like he's come to a conclusion he knew was inevitable.

"Christ, Steve. Why didn't you tell her?" Bucky asks redirecting his attention to the man straightening himself in his arm. The sound of 1945 Steve choking on water keeps playing in Bucky's ears and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming out again. It takes a long time, too long for Bucky's liking, but Steve eventually leans back to look Bucky in the eye and respond.

"It didn't seem to matter much. I didn't die just for you. But it was me or the world. And you were already dead and it was my fault." Steve breathes out.

"That wasn't your fault." Bucky grips him hard.

"I know that." Steve says closing his eyes.

"Still can't lie for shit, Rogers."

"I know it wasn't my fault." When Steve's eyes open again they're exhausted and drained. He looks like he's miles away, decades away. Trapped in a dream and reliving the swell of ice in his lungs.

"Steve. Why didn't you give Peggy your coordinates?" Bucky insists.

There's a long, settling pause hanging between them before, "It just didn't seem to matter. You were gone. I took the Valkyrie. Schmidt was dead. It didn't matter."

"Bullshit, it didn't matter," Bucky pulls Steve tight against him, buries his nose in his grimy golden locks. The day is no longer about the visit of Tony Stark but rather about Steve's reacquaintance with death and the ever escaping reasons to why it had to fucking happen in the first place. "We're going home. Fuck, you're shaking, pal. C'mon. Let's go home, huh?" Steve nods against him, because what else can he do? Then Bucky carries him out of the room and no one says a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ninety - Jaden Smith
> 
> Lina Iris Viktor is an incredible African artist based in New York and I would highly recommend taking a look at her work. Marvel actually asked to use her work for Black Panther but they never came to an agreement so they couldn't use anything of hers. But if you watch the music video for "All The Stars" you will see a familiar black and gold patterned background which is meant to imitate Viktor's style, since, again, Viktor did not allow for her work to be used for the video.


	40. I'll Paint A Masterpiece Just For You To See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catch a star if you can  
> Wish for something special  
> Let it be me, my love is free

October 2016

Steve wakes up in the bed alone, blanket half on him and with sunlight burning in his eyes. He slept through the entire afternoon and into the next day. He knows because Bucky left his tea out on the table and yesterday, he did not. Steve shifts to rub sleep from his eyes and ponder what Bucky could be up to, then he stands and makes for the outdoors.

"Buck?" Steve asks as he holds up a hand against the glaring sunrise. His bare toes dig into the cool dirt and he takes a deep breath. He hears more than sees Bucky to his left fending off an animal or two.

" _Just a sec, Steve Kiev,_ " Bucky mutters annoyed, then he looks up at the groggy Steve shuffling towards him. "Hey, sweetheart. You look like shit." Steve finishes walking the few steps over to Bucky and pulls him into an immediate kiss. He's tired and still feeling swollen and blown up like a goddamn balloon from yesterday's turbulent events.

Bucky stiffens in Steve's arms before melting against him and returning the eagerness. After a second he pulls away from Steve and looks a little shy as he exhales a shaky breath. Steve screws his eyes shut, seeing for a minute a younger Bucky, the wrong Bucky, then buries his face in the crook of Bucky's neck.

"You're okay. We're okay," Bucky murmurs into his hair, then, "Christ, sweetheart, you need a shower."

"Fuck you," Steve mumbles pulling back to stick him with a glare. "I had a bad coupla days. Coupla decades, really."

"It's a little early for the melodramatics, don't you think, Rogers?" Tony's voice comes from the right. That wakes Steve up and he snaps his eyes over to where Tony is leaning against Bucky's wooden cart in a three piece suit, thankfully not looking much better than how Steve feels.

"You'd hate my therapist. She says I shouldn't, what was it? _Bury my emotions_." Steve staggers through his weak joke. Bucky squeezes his hand before taking a healthy step away.

"Therapy, huh?" Tony nods and takes his hands out of his pockets to absently fiddle with his fingers. "Well, I thought I'd stop by before I went back. I wanted to, you know..." Tony watches the goats headbutt each other as if they will finish his sentence for him. Bucky meanders over to them to halfheartedly separate them.

"Don't hafta say anything, Tony. It's all fine. I'm sorry. I am. For everything." Tony nods again, peering at Steve through his sunglasses. There's a beat of silence before Tony replies.

"Maybe I didn't want to understand it completely because it...fuck, maybe it would have made you more human than I ever thought you could be. You were always a story. And then you weren't but I still looked at you like you were. And there were bits where I saw you as a man. Or more like, maybe, you _let_ us see you. Though, I don't know if that was on purpose or not. You're a deliberate person and I've been worrying lately that it might kill you. I know what you've been doing with Nat and Sam. Natasha's right most the time, _all the time_ , but she's especially right about you being the shittiest of all of us at hiding. And taking care of yourself. But, well, I'm not all that worried about that part so much anymore." Tony glances at Bucky. Tony doesn't stare long enough to see it, but Bucky's lips quirk up before setting into a line. Steve feels his mouth do the same.

"I'm getting better." Steve weakly gestures around him. Tony quirks a tiny smile.

"Like I said. I'm sorry, kid," Tony pushes himself off the cart and takes a tentative step forward. Steve mirrors it. From the corner of his eye, Steve sees Bucky pick up a goat and walk around the back of the hut with her. "Well you really do look like shit Rogers, your boy's not wrong about that. He introduced me to all your farm animals. You're turning into Clint."

"Clint doesn't have any animals."

"Still. One by one, the Avengers are succumbing to the evils of farm life."

"Bucky likes it. It's different. We've never...taken care of anything together." Steve says awkwardly.

"He told me that if you said the word together in reference to the animals that I should hit you across the head." Tony says. Steve actually laughs.

"Yeah, alright. I guess he does most the work." Steve concedes.

"I'm trying to forgive you. Please know that. I'm trying every day, and I think I'm almost there. But him, that's gonna be harder, Steve. But I saw what I saw and I know what I know. I'm trying," Steve nods in response and looks over his shoulder to see if Bucky is in sight. He must still be out behind the hut so Steve turns back to look at Tony. "But if it means anything, I'm- I'm happy for you. That you could find something. Again. And, Christ, listen, I don't know what I'm saying, okay? I just know I've never seen anyone like you two and I won't waste bitter words on coming between it. Fair? Fair. Good, we've got that settled. Now tell me why every animal in this joint has your name."

"Buck thinks he's clever. He's just a dumbass." Steve grumbles. "Thank you for coming. To see me. I did miss you, I _do_ miss you. And I hope you're doing okay."

"Well I'm me, aren't I? Always," Tony sighs. "Don't let us be strangers, will ya?" He claps Steve on the shoulder then begins walking away.

"Never." Steve gives him a genuine smile and feels Bucky come up behind him, brushing his fingertips against Steve's.

* * *

November 2016

"It's an _'I'm sorry I put you through hell and made everyone watch. Also I think you'll really like this'_ gift." Steve says reading the card that goes with the two boxes.

"It really says that?" Bucky asks as he peers over Steve's shoulder.

"Mmhm." Steve holds up the card so Bucky can see for himself.

"Sweet. We should have her over again soon. I don't know why she thinks we're mad at her. I'm not. Are you?" Bucky bends down and nuzzles Steve's ear. It makes him shiver and Bucky laughs.

"No." Steve responds turning his head to kiss Bucky quick on the lips. Bucky smiles then straightens up.

"I miss Wanda."

"You miss everybody. We don't necessarily have the room to keep hosting all these people you miss you know." Steve grumbles thinking of the past two weeks of sleeping on the hard ground so Sam and Nat could visit. And Shuri. And Akhona. And Sam and Nat again. And Clint. Bucky kisses him roughly on the cheek and goes back to making dinner in the corner.

"You gonna open 'em, pal?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah, you wanna help?" Steve looks over his shoulder. Bucky rolls his eyes and comes back over to watch, not help, Steve open the box. Inside is a mountain of tissue paper and Steve rips it away.

"It's a record player." Steve says carefully hoisting it out of the box.

"Best fucking thing I've ever seen," Bucky leans in close as Steve gently holds it in his arms. Next they unpack the second box which is full of records that Steve had left at the facility in upstate New York, and then some. Bucky studies a few that Steve has never seen before and he leans in close as they read the tracks together. "I've never heard of these guys. Have you? Yeah, me neither. Hmm, hand me that album over there, would ya pal? No, the black one. I think that's the only one I know out of all these new ones she got you."

"Why don't we play it?" Steve asks as Bucky squints harder at this particular album. Bucky holds it out for Steve to take and gives him a warm smile. Steve takes it and sets up the player.

"B side first? Please." Bucky tucks his hair back and watches Steve flip the record over.

"You're a menace. Who goes straight to B side?" Steve shakes his head. "Ruins the rightful flow."

"Dance with me, too?" Bucky asks quietly. Steve offers a hand that Bucky accepts with warm eyes. "I know this one, I think." And then the song fills up the hut and Steve tugs Bucky closer with every lyric.

"I went to one of their concerts once," Bucky says when the song fades into the next. It plays loud around them sending goosebumps over Steve's skin. "Well sort of. I was tailing someone in Europe. 1982. I almost lost sight of my target because I got...caught up in the music. I think it was the first time in decades I felt like someone else. Maybe like me."

"You went to a rock concert without me?" Steve asks, feigning hurt.

"I'm sorry, where were you in '82? The ice, was it?" Bucky pinches Steve's shoulder.

"Still."

* * *

December 2016

Steve leads Bucky by the hand into the hut where his Christmas present awaits. He had Bucky go to the lab while he brought it over, not that Bucky wasn't planning on visiting Shuri today anyhow. When Bucky steps inside he notices the gift immediately and stills.

" _Fuck_ , you-" Bucky inhales sharply as he looks down at the wooden trunk. It rests at the end of the bed, where there is just barely enough room for it. "You brought this here?" Steve watches Bucky kneel down in front of the trunk and pick the lock.

"Happy Christmas, you ungrateful freeloader," Steve says in an echo of a Christmas ages ago. "Why don't you ask for the fucking key?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Bucky grins as he opens it up. He lifts out his journals and sets them aside then begins sifting through his sister's things. He pulls out Becca's wedding portrait and stares at it for a long time. Steve kneels down next to him and looks the black and white photograph over.

"She got it, you know." Bucky breaks the silence.

"What?" Steve asks, pulling his eyes back over to Bucky. His nose is scrunching up and he's biting hard at his bottom lip.

"That- that dress we found in France. She got it after we died. She wore it for her anniversary. Did you see the picture? It's beautiful, here, let me find it. She looked-" Bucky cuts himself off and slows his trembling hand as it flips through the photographs. Steve puts an arm around Bucky and rests his forehead against the side of his face. He can feel Bucky shaking slightly in an effort to keep himself together.

"Go see G," Steve murmurs. "It's only Christmas Eve, if you leave now you can be there with her for the big day."

"What if there's other people there? There will be other people there."

"Then go the next day. Spend Christmas with your sister, Buck."

"What about you?"

"I'll still be here when you get back. Promise." Steve whispers.

"I don't want you to be alone, Stevie. Come with. She'll wanna see you too." Bucky fixes him with a watery stare. Steve considers him.

"Yeah," He finally nods. "Yeah, okay. We should give her a call."

* * *

January 2017

For the New Year, Steve's resolution is to finally develop his mother's old film and to begin rifling through her letters. Bucky's resolution is to let him.

"She never talked to her mother again, huh?" Steve asks quietly, staring at the old photos in his hands, shuffling listlessly through them again and again. Many were of Sarah and people he did not know but most were of a baby, or a little boy Steve thought maybe he just might recognize. Bucky even appears in one or two. Bucky's pause gives him away and Steve lifts his head up looking nearly betrayed.

"There was one letter. From her mother to yours. It was a courtesy call. Just saying that, um, that he died. Her husband. Your..." Bucky trails off.

"How'd she get it to her?" Steve asks looking back down at photograph of his young looking mother and an equally young woman Steve doesn't know next to her. Their heads rest together at the temple and Sarah is laughing with her eyes shut.

"Shit, I don't know. Maybe Sarah sent her ma something or wrote her. I wouldn't know."

"That true?" Steve holds his stare.

"Yeah, Steve," Bucky sighs. "I don't know anything about it. Promise." Steve nods and looks away again. He sets the pictures down and looks at the letters he opened earlier. He's read through them a handful of times. All are between friends or even the occasional lover. None from her family. One is from Steve himself, letters scraggly and mostly illegible.

"She did the right thing. Always did, shouldn't be surprised," Steve lets his eyes drag over a love letter to Sarah. It's short but it make Steve's head spin every time he reads it. _Who was writing love letters to his mother?_ "I miss her."

"There's one more thing, Steve," Bucky clenches and unclenches his fist, feeling the sweat spring there. He sits cross-legged next to Steve and scoots close so he can rest a hand on his knee. "On the envelope, before I got rid of it like Sarah wanted me to, her name was on it. Her married name and your grandmother's name, Sarah's maiden name."

"Guessing it wasn't Rogers?" Steve smirks at him. Then he drops his gaze and shakes his head. "Don't tell me just yet. This is enough today."

"No problem, punk." Bucky rubs his thumb in the groove of Steve's kneecap.

"You haven't called me that in a long time." Steve falls forward to rest his forehead against Bucky's shoulder.

"Miss it?" Bucky whispers.

"Nah, I like sweetheart better." Steve whispers back.

"Too bad. _Punk_."

* * *

February 2017

Natasha visits alone at the end of February when she's supposed to be on a mission in South Africa with Steve and Sam. Clint, who had been working with them for a couple months now, went back to deal with something in New York, a friend named Kate needed his help. Or more accurately, Clint needed her help.

She comes down the hill slowly as Bucky straightens from his position of gently forcing a goat away from him in an effort to save his quickly tattering pants. He shades his eyes with a hand to get a better look at her. They watch each other like the trained assassins they are and then she is planted in front of him, flicking her eyes between him and his three goats that are milling about around his feet. She crouches to pet the closest Steve.

"What brings you around? I thought you were in Cape Town thwarting some evil plan or other." Bucky asks. She ignores him for a minute as she massages the goat's ear between her fingers.

"Well, we finished early." Natasha explains standing back up. She crosses her arms, watching Bucky carefully.

"Where's-"

"He's actually locked up." Natasha interrupts with narrowed eyes. Bucky surprises them both by letting out a laugh.

"Please tell me you didn't come here for help, Romanoff." He doesn't believe that she would ever need his help but he figures he'd mention his disinterest just in case. Steve can handle himself. What's more, Natasha can _make_ Steve handle himself.

"I don't need your help, Barnes. I'm leaving him there. It's a teaching moment for him." She follows Bucky over to the stumps Bucky set out last month around the fire pit. It's quiet and cold in there now, with no flames to warm the air around them. Natasha lowers herself to sit gracefully and silently.

"Should I ask what he did this time?" Bucky idly fiddles with the tatters on the right pant leg of his bottoms. There's still lingering goat saliva. Bucky wrinkles his nose and wipes the offending substance on the knee of his pants. Natasha watches with an amused glint in her eye.

"Sam already called storytelling rights." She waves a hand.

"Where's Sam at?"

"Keeping a watchful eye on Steve. There's a slim chance the people that are holding him might execute him but I'm optimistic." She shrugs a shoulder and Bucky studies the lines on her face to see if she's serious. She bites the inside of her cheek then remembers he's watching and stops. He decides to believe her.

"As always. You want some millet? I have fruit too, inside." He offers. She considers him for a second before quirking a smile.

"Yeah, I could eat." Bucky retreats into the hut to plate food for them then returns. He managed to put her food on their nicest mismatched plate, which is really just a relatively new calabash bowl. She accepts it and waits for Bucky to reseat himself before she eats.

"Remember when we were undercover in Spain and you had to cook for that couple who lived next door to us?" She says around a mouthful of grain. Bucky shakes his head in bravadic agitation.

"Remember when you tried to help and ruined the fucking dinner for everyone?" He glares at her.

"I did it on purpose. We needed them out." She rolls her eyes.

"Well, I worked hard on that meal."

"Yes. I know. I heard that every day for the following week. Every time you ate something you brought it up. Stilted and grumpy. Like always."

"Lucky I didn't kill you for it." Bucky tucks his weathered calabash closer as if Natasha might somehow ruin this dinner too.

"Lucky I didn't kill _you_ for all your complaining."

* * *

March 2017

“Let me do it, Buck.” Steve huffs against the back of Bucky’s neck. He's seated on the edge of the bed and Steve is behind him trying, and _failing_ , to wrangle Bucky's hair into two braids. It's getting longer, long enough to get creative with and Bucky has been encouraging Steve to get better at doing so. But apparently, hair styling is not Steve's strength.

“You’re no good at it. Get Shuri to do it. She doesn’t rip my fucking hair out. Jesus, haven’t I suffered enough?” Bucky gripes. He tries to wiggle away from Steve but Steve gives another tug that pulls him right back.

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve rolls his eyes even though he knows Bucky can’t see it. “I can do it just as good. You just won’t stop fucking moving.” Steve mutters as he gives another unnecessary tug. Bucky slaps Steve's knee.

“I would if you were doing it right!”

* * *

April 2017

Steve watches him as he comes over the hill to the modest hut. Goats graze around as Bucky is crouched down petting one. His hair is braided back with loose strands curling over his cheekbones. He has a small smile on his mouth as the goat bleats. It's peaceful, it's blissful, it's what Bucky deserves. Steve slows his footsteps as he nears Bucky’s lowered form. They watch each other for a few more seconds. Bucky idly petting the goat. Steve with his hands stuffed in his pockets. They take in the changes the last two weeks have made to each other. Bucky breathes out in relief when he can't pinpoint much difference.

“Are you gonna make love to me in this hut or are we gonna size each other up all afternoon?” Bucky rises to his feet, the goat bleating it's dismay at the loss of contact.

“Bossy today are we?”

“Well, I’m in the mood. Let’s go.” Bucky grabs one fistful of Steve’s shirt and pulls him against his lips. Pulling away slightly, he murmurs into Steve’s mouth, “I've missed you.” Then they are making their way into the privacy of the small hut. Steve guides their walk backwards until they topple down onto the mattress not breaking apart for a second. It's slow but heated and when they are finished Bucky pulls a blanket over Steve, running his fingers over the warm body underneath.

"This is my favorite one." Bucky whispers as he traces a pattern on the quilt. It's the same one Bruce gave to Steve when all the Avengers had gifted him blankets years ago. Sam delivered them to Wakanda around Christmastime.

"Me too," Steve whispers back. He watches Bucky stand and put hot water on to boil. He studies the muscles of the back he just spent the last hour kissing, and sighs. "When I was away this time. We were in New York again, just for a day. And I- I saw a paper with me on it. Well, um, with Captain America on it. And I thought that, maybe, it would make me feel regretful, or wistful, or even nostalgic. But it just made me feel sick, Buck."

"Well, you're finally separating yourself from Captain America. It's what you've been working on with Dr. Hathaway. She said you would start looking at the person Cap is and feeling a little different." Bucky comes back over and sits on the edge of the bed.

"I'm going to be obvious for a minute but...I'm- I'm so different now and it scares me. It didn't used to because I ignored it. I'm still trying to but, fuck, if I could put who I was when we were kids up next to the me of now, side by side, if I could place myself next to my other self I wouldn't recognize either. I don't think I've ever recognized who I was. Who I am."

"You don't have to, Stevie. You'll get there."

"Every year it feels like a new me takes over. Every fight. Every time I have to run. Like a new person takes over and I don't know what to do with the parts that are left behind and I don't know how to reconcile the person that comes from that."

"Listen, listen, I know you. I've known you," Bucky runs his fingers down Steve's throat."I knew you as the kid you've lost sight of. I knew you as man before war. I knew you as a soldier. And I knew you as a superhero and a vigilante and a goddamn fugitive. You're different. But I recognize every part of you. Every inch. Every word that comes out of that dumbass mouth. I know these eyes. The way you breath when you finally get to sleep. I don't care if it's deeper and longer than it was in 1935. Don't care if your heart beats differently, cause it does. I used to memorize the way it beat. I counted every thump, waited for the next one. I still do. And I love the way it comes, steady, like those breaths from lungs that finally work right. It's you. It's always you. And I've known you my whole life. You told me that once. And I listened. I'm still listening. I've known you my whole life." Bucky watches him in the lofty quiet. Steve struggles to respond and in the end, opts not to. Instead he reaches out a hand to brush back a strand of Bucky's hair. They both close their eyes.

Bucky's water boils over and he hurries to lift it off the heat.

* * *

May 2017

"Look at these ones, man. I like these." Sam bends over to smell the blue buds and Bucky feels an enormous swell of pride course through him. He has a myriadic sprawl of flowers and flourishing plants planted all around the hut. Some are returning blooms from last year and others are all new, beautiful and taking up the whole sky with their brilliance.

"They're delphiniums. My favorite." Bucky offers. Sam looks up at him and gives him a genuine smile, small but sweet. It's just the two of them and Bucky is pleased to be spending the time alone with Sam without Steve clucking for attention.

"Beautiful. You've got good taste for a man who washes his hair once a week." Sam stands back up and claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky laughs, a genuine chuckle that gets Sam to smile bigger. Then Bucky leads him through the rest of the flowers stopping at the daisies to tell a story that's never been spoken aloud. It's been years, literally decades, since Steve or Bucky have talked about or even mentioned Daisy; that showgirl turned nurse from the war. It was Bucky's idea to plant the flowers in memory of her. Almost all of the flowers here serve a purpose of memoriam.

"You have a good life here. I'm happy for you. You deserve this." Sam tightens the hand on Bucky's shoulder then seems to deliberate for a second before going ahead and pulling Bucky into a hug. Bucky clings back reluctantly, just to play his part, then he tightens his hold and closes his eyes.

"Thank you. I'm happy."

* * *

June 2017

“C’mere.” Bucky beckons him closer and their knees knock. Then he pulls out the four little buds Shuri gave him and drops two in Steve's hand. Bucky puts his in and Steve follows. Bucky starts the playlist from the beginning, the one he made for Steve so many months ago, more than a year ago at this point, and lets the song flow through them both. Steve hears the first few notes and looks over at Bucky with something like surprise.

“I like this song.” Steve remarks with a wide, uncontainable grin that bubbles into a laugh.

“I know, pal.” Bucky kisses him once then they lie back and watch the sky turn from lilac to black, stars dotting across their vision brighter and brighter with the switch of the songs. The air is warm. The ground is warm. Their bodies next to each other are warm. And Billie Holiday sings to them with nothing but the same melancholic, grenadine tone they danced to as boys.

* * *

July 2017

"Over here, pal. C'mere," Bucky beckons Lucky over to him where he sits on the ground. Lucky looks at Clint then back at Bucky then back at Clint then he revs up and jumps over to Bucky. Bucky can do nothing but fall backwards and accept the sloppy onslaught of love. He laughs into it.

"Damn, he loves you already." Clint shakes his head and crouches next to them. Bucky tries to sit up and earns a sneeze in the face as result.

"Kindred spirits." Bucky grins as he wipes the dog snot off his face.

* * *

August 2017

"I don't know if I'm much for swimming anymore. Not if I don't have to." Steve eyes the water lapping at Bucky's toes then rakes his eyes up Bucky's tanned body. He's stripped down to his undershorts, the Falcon pattern making Steve smile to himself. They were a birthday gift from Sam. Steve is still nervously fingering the band of his own undershorts, getting cold feet about the idea now that he's so close. It's not that he can't swim or hasn't been in water in some form since he woke up. But crashing the Valkyrie, and nearly drowning in the Potomac, and rescuing himself and Bucky from the water after he took them both over in a helicopter hasn't done much for Steve's love of swimming. If he's not in the mood (which he never is) and if it isn't life or death (which it usually is) he'd rather stay put on the shore. It took two months of anxious deflections and mysterious palace visits last summer for Bucky to notice that he wouldn't wash in a tub or the lake. They had an outdoor shower put in the next day.

"Hey," Bucky looks at him softly, turning his body to get a better view of Steve. "You don't have to, sweetheart, but it's worth a try, yeah? It's not too cold, I promise. And I'm here." Bucky removes himself from the shallow pool and stands in front of Steve, forcing him to focus on Bucky and not the lapping shore. They are chest to chest and he can feel Bucky's slimy toes on Steve's foot where Bucky is purposely overlapping them on Steve. Steve whines and pulls his foot away but Bucky follows.

"Fine, you jerk, I'll go in." Steve concedes. He follows Bucky as he walks backwards into the water, his hand clasped in Bucky's. Steve listens to the sound of Bucky's feet, his breathing, the sounds the birds make in the treeline around them. Bucky keeps his eyes locked on Steve as the cool lake takes them in further. It's nothing, it should be nothing, and as long as Steve remembers that Bucky is here and the shore is just as close it isn't as bad as he thought. He gets to his chest before the pressure builds then he pulls away from Bucky and wades back towards the shallow end. Bucky floats next to him as Steve trudges through the water then sits his ass down in the sand. Bucky still floats in the shallow water, his elbow braced under the surface. He looks up at Steve, then, "Want me to take my shorts off?"

* * *

September 2017

"Hi- oh, hi," Steve says as he comes into the hut holding one of the goats like a newborn. "I was chasing this guy down, I didn't see you come up. How are you?" Steve nods at the visitor and sees the proud grin spread over Bucky's stupid face. They had a blown out of proportion argument this morning about Steve's involvement of the care of the animals. It started with how he still, _still_ , refuses to call them by name and escalated to Bucky feeling like an underappreciated farmhand who did all the work and took care of everything while Steve sat back and reaped the benefits.

"Doing well. You?" M'baku returns the pleasantry. He looks cramp in the space of the hut, sitting on one of Steve's drawing chairs. He's a large man, perhaps more imposing than either Steve or Bucky. This is not the first time M'baku has visited Bucky but it is the first time when Steve has been home.

"Alright," Steve nods. "What brings you down?"

"Just visiting with your partner. I had the time and thought that I would engage with him. It's not often I get time away from my obligations."

"He's staying for dinner. Why don't you put her in the pen and get cleaned up." Bucky stands up and pushes Steve out the door with an alarming force. Steve looks over his shoulder worriedly at Bucky but he just smiles back.

It's later, after M'baku has gone that Steve corners Bucky.

"You have a crush on him."

"What?" Bucky looks incredulously at him before looking away quickly and doubling down on scrubbing the cups clean.

"Oh, please, James Buchanan Barnes, don't you kid me. You couldn't get me out of the hut fast enough earlier. And you didn't even look at me during dinner. You barely spoke to me. I'd be mad if you weren't so hilarious to watch."

"You asshole. I was perfectly normal." Bucky lets his hair fall to shield his face from Steve.

"You were drooling." Steve leans closer to try and catch Bucky's eye. Bucky pointedly shifts away.

"Was not."

"I think sweat was beading along your brow." Steve continues.

"Was not!" Bucky snaps his head back up to glare at Steve. Steve pinches one of his rose-red cheeks and giggles.

"You blushed every time he spoke. I bet you didn't even hear a word he said. Just liked the way it sounded, honey."

"You're a dick. Shut up and put these away," Bucky aims for serious but ends up giggling too and soon they're both laughing up a fit. When Bucky can catch his breath he adds, "But can you blame me? Fuck, you saw the way he hugged me goodbye. I think it's love." That sets them off again and Bucky ends up getting a punch to the gut when he makes fun of Steve for snorting.

* * *

October 2017

“I kissed your sister once.” Steve blurts as he stares at the ceiling. He's still running his fingers lazily on Bucky's chest and he feels the instant Bucky's heart rate picks up.

“The next words that come out of your mouth better be ‘in the fourth grade’ or I’m beating your ass here and now.” Bucky says lowly. Steve's hand stills and he fights the smile that's trying to take over his face

“It was a year before ma got sick.” Steve admits as he looks up at Bucky through his lashes. He's being a punk, he knows it, but he can't help the sheepish shrug he does for effect.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you fucking serious? Alright. Get up, come on. I’m kicking your ass.” Bucky sits up and the thin sheet around his body crumples around his waist before Bucky grabs a fistful and rips it away so he can stand up. Steve had leaned up with Bucky but now he falls back against the bed at the view and smirks.

"Gonna hit me, Barnes?" Steve asks throwing his arms over his head.

"Fuck you, you'd like that wouldn't you?" Bucky storms out of the hut and Steve's eyes widen.

"You're gonna scare the goats in all your glory, Buck!"

"Fuck you!" Steve hears Bucky shout back. Steve laughs then tugs the sheet up and closes his eyes and waits for Bucky to come back to bed.

* * *

November 2017

Shuri sits cross-legged on their rug and hands Bucky a box wrapped in brown paper. He sits down next to her and looks at it skeptically.

"Is this another joke gift? I don't need any more compression socks. I'm not diabetic. And I don't need reading glasses, either." Bucky glares at her. She glares back. Steve continues stirring Bucky's tea and adds, "Or denture cream."

"You're lucky I don't give you adult diapers, you ancient old bags. You never know when incontinence will strike." Shuri leans back and nods her head expectantly at Bucky. He runs a hand over the paper then slides his finger under the tape. Steve leans down and sips from Bucky's mug. Bucky glances over and tuts at him.

"Don't drink it all." Bucky says tugging on the paper.

"Open faster then." Steve says around another sip.

"One hand." Bucky reminds him.

"Will you just open it?" Shuri rolls her eyes. Bucky finishes pulling back the paper and squints at the box. "It is a Polaroid camera. I thought, since you have so many old pictures lying around this place you could take some new ones. Add to the collection. And I figured you would want to get on film how ugly you've both gotten."

"Christmas is next month, you know." Bucky gripes halfheartedly. He makes quick work of opening the box and getting the camera out. Steve sets the tea down to help.

"Do you like it? It's fine if you don't I can-"

"Shut up, I love it." Bucky clutches it to his chest.

Shuri sticks around to take pictures with them for the rest of the evening. And when that tires she heads home with a smile, Bucky waving her off at the bottom of the hill, camera in hand. He takes to it like a fish to water and begins taking pictures of everything. He captures his goats and the chicken and the mule and his vegetable garden. He lays down in the dirt to get up close shots of his flowers as they wilt out of season. He visits Shuri in the lab some days and takes pictures of her there. He takes pictures of Akhona as she kicks him off her land for helping during harvest. He takes pictures of Natasha piggybacking on Sam on their way to the lake. He takes pictures of himself with Steve in the background looking unprepared and half in the frame.

He pauses in the middle of sloppy kisses to document the shine of Steve's skin and the way his hair falls messily over his forehead. He snaps photos of his legs, strong and locked around Bucky's. Of his arms, slung over his head. Of his mouth, dropped open and looking swollen.

Some pictures get put up, the pretty ones of friends and flowers. The other ones are tucked safely away in the chest with the rest of their flash frozen memories.

* * *

December 2017

"What d'you want for Christmas?" Steve asks Bucky as he tosses Bruce's quilt over his shoulder. He hears Bucky catch it with a surprised huff of breath.

"Don't throw things at me, I have a disability." Bucky grumbles. Steve rolls his eyes and continues stripping the bed.

"You know what I want for Christmas?" Steve asks with a grunt. "For you to stop making that joke all the time."

"Watch it, Steve, your ableism is jumping out." Bucky admonishes.

"It's not ableism. You completely abuse your disablement points." Steve gets the sheet off and balls it up in his hands. Bucky takes it from him and puts it in the basket for the wash.

"Oh, it's a point system now?" Bucky asks with an indignant cock of his head.

"Every time you want to win an argument or get out of something you bring up your arm-"

"Or rather, my lack thereof." Bucky interjects.

"-You make me the Bing Crosby to your Danny Kaye in _White Christmas_ ," Steve finishes. "Point is, you need a new joke. Hey, there, I'll get you a new joke for Christmas. How's that sound, asshole?" Steve moves on to pulling the pillows out of their covers.

"You sure are in rare form today, Rogers. But sure, sounds like a dream. I'll take it."

"That easy?" Steve stops to straighten up and look at Bucky who stares back at him dazedly. Steve grunts a laugh and mutters, "Sap. You're not even listening, are you?" Bucky _is_ listening and smacks the back of his hand against Steve's ass in retaliation. Steve yelps.

"I know," Bucky declares. "I know what I want." Bucky saddles up real close to Steve, slipping his arm around Steve's slight waist.

"What?" Steve asks in a whisper. Their noses brush and Steve's eyes slip closed on their own accord.

"This." Bucky moves them, swaying them to music that isn't playing.

"Me?" Steve lets his bottom lip drag over Bucky's lips. His mouth opens and hot breaths land on Steve's face.

"Us." Bucky tightens his arm.

"You already have that. I thought you hated regifting." Steve cracks his eyes open and sees Bucky looking back at him.

"I want you here." Bucky breathes out. It's an old conversation but it stops Steve nonetheless.

" _Buck_."

"You've been fighting less and less anyway. It's not making you any happier. You can give it up. You can come home, at least, for a while. C'mon, sweetheart," Bucky unwinds his arm from around Steve and braces it on the back of his neck. "Stay with me."

"The world-"

"Will correct itself. There are other heroes. Have Sam-"

"You saying I'm fading into obscurity?" Steve interrupts with a sad smile.

"Captain America is dead, or at least over with as far as Steve Rogers is concerned. And Nomad is tiring. Why don't you try this out? Finally have a chance to get better?"

"You really never liked Captain America, huh?" Steve asks and Bucky gets a glint in his eye.

"He's a cad." Bucky leans back in and brushes his lips over Steve's. Steve pushes back, chasing the heat.

"Nomad too?" Steve pulls away. Bucky takes the opportunity to kiss down Steve's jaw and over to his ear.

"Only guy I could ever stand was Steve Rogers. He's a hero. And he's served the world long enough." Bucky nips at the spot behind Steve's ear and feels him shiver.

"I don't know about that."

"For all your bravery and sacrifice, you can't do this one thing? For us? For yourself? Remember when you came to me and said you weren't sure who you were? Find him. He's here. I know it. He's not in the busted jaw of some bad guy. He's not on the run. He's not waiting for you anywhere else but here," Bucky places his hand over Steve's heart. "You've been home for two months, what's a few more decades?" Steve laughs.

"You think it'll be that easy?" Steve asks and Bucky stops swaying their bodies.

"No. But I never said it would. You are a goddamn fire, but just think on it, hmm?" Then he steps away and picks up the basket of blankets and sheets and starts for the door. "Hey, you didn't forget to take my picture out, right?"

"I put it on the table. There." Steve gestures behind him to where the yellowed paper rests folded next to a stack of photographs. Bucky still insists on keeping the drawing tucked into the pillowcase even when Steve suggested they frame it. _Habit,_ Bucky had shrugged at him as he gently took the drawing from Steve's hands and secured it safely back under his pillow after Steve found it inside the pillowcase. Now, Bucky hovers in the doorway waiting for Steve to follow him out to do the wash.

"You ready?" Bucky asks, and it's a loaded question in all its brevity. Steve studies him, sees the wisps of his unruly hair hanging around his face where the rest is pulled back. He looks at the way Bucky's arm flexes as he shifts the basket against his hip. Sees his feet, bare and a little dirty from being outside earlier. It isn't 1935, it's not, but Steve feels the same rushing, blossoming feeling fall over him as he looks at the man he's known his entire life, and loved since before it began. How miraculous, how impossible for them to be here together, washing their bedding after a stuffy Sunday afternoon. The simplicity, the saccharine monotony of it, strikes him and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Steve walks over to Bucky, buzzing with the realization that maybe, after all this time, all this fighting, he could be ready, after all.

"Yeah," Steve looks at their feet, bare on the rug and with dirt caught between their toes. It's heaven, it's divine, and with the heat rolling off of Bucky's body and landing on Steve's, it's even holy. Maybe he could stay, maybe he should. Steve nods at the wriggle of Bucky's toes then looks up to drink in the incredible, recalcitrant presence of Bucky Barnes. "Yeah, okay, I'll see what old St. Nick can do about your gift." And Bucky smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are You Ready For Love? - Elton John
> 
> uh the album steve and bucky are listening to in November 2016 is "A Day At The Races" by Queen. Say what u will ab queen but this album is mwah. this is also the album somebody to love is on and in 1982 queen performed at the bowl. one of my favorite live performances and versions of somebody to love :)
> 
> i think this was my longest chapter ever and it's been plaguing me beyond belief. theres only a few more chapters left and y'all already kno whats coming next :////// and excuse any mistakes my head hurts and i cant look at this any longer or i'll lose it


	41. I Carry On Through Stormy Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wars will never cease  
> Is there time enough for peace?  
> The lily of the valley doesn't know

April 2018

Akhona drops by unannounced an hour after Bucky leaves for the lab. He had gotten out of bed first to take care of the animals, punch a sleeping Steve in the arm, and start the coffee maker for Steve before quietly making to step out. Steve stumbled from the bed to catch Bucky before he slipped all the way out the door, grabbing his hips from behind, he laid speckles and spatters of kisses on the back of Bucky's neck. _C'mon, Stevie, she's waitin' on me. Just stay a little while, Buck? You're so warm, honey, so warm._ Bucky had awoken in the middle of the night thrashing and calling out, tears staining his ruddy cheeks. It'd been a healthy spell since either of them had a bad night. But _nothing lasts forever_ , Bucky had whispered to him before he left him cold in the bed to wait for his return an hour later. They both slept restlessly until dawn.

Akhona rounds the hill grumbling about Bucky not taking her last goat when he was visiting her three days ago, which she now has trailing behind her, bleating up a storm. She's dressed for the unusually cool morning in the wrap he and Bucky gave her last year. She refused it and refused it but with everything she has done for them and given to them, Bucky never backed down. Eventually she accepted it with a roll of her eyes and now she wears it nearly every time Steve sees her. She leans up to kiss Steve on the cheek then walks around to the pen to lead the goat in. The other goats duly ignore the new edition until he waddles up into their elite circle. Steve looks on with an amused smile.

"Thought Buck told you we didn't need any more kids?" Steve points out as he leans his hip against a post of the pen and crosses his arms. Akhona looks up and grins wickedly at him.

"It was more like a suggestion. You'll take better care of her than I will." She responds in Xhosa.

"So you say." He responds back.

"I have not seen you in a while. You've grown it out." Akhona rubs her chin as she stares at Steve's. He unconsciously mirrors the action and grins. Bucky teased him up a tree the first week of the scraggly beard. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen Steve with facial hair before, they were in a war once after all, but this round Steve was growing it out on purpose. Though after it filled in Steve found that Bucky couldn't stop touching it, reaching for it, asking for it to be on him in the stifling humidity of the night.

"Do you like it?" Steve asks with a bubbling laugh as he watches her expression. Her face screws up before smoothing out into a careful stare. She comes up to pat his shoulder, goodnaturedly.

"Wewe ni mrembo sana." She assures him and Steve throws his head back to laugh. They loiter about the garden, checking the soil and discussing the upcoming growing season. Some of last years growths are peaking up looking for the sun already. Bucky likes to kneel down and whisper to them, sometimes in French, sometimes in Welsh, sometimes in Arabic. He speaks colorful, iridescent words of encouragement. Warm phrases of love that have Steve wringing his hands in order to stop himself from reaching out for Bucky's face. When the morning wears into a smoldering and wet afternoon they head into the hut. Akhona takes a whole calabash from her satchel and holds it at level with her face. She examines it and something about the way she does it implies he should be doing the same.

"I'm going to show you how to do something. Yours," She nods her head at the calabash bowls stacked on the shelf above the cooking station. "Are good. I know because they were mine. But you should do your own. You are an artist. You should do this." Steve watches her prepare it then shows him how to carve it. She hands over one half of the cut calabash and looks at him expectantly. Steve is quick to get a rhythm, watching the way she carves studiously. Before he knows it, a presence looms in the doorway signaling he lost track of time, perhaps a couple hours.

"Hey," Bucky stands with the light haloing around him. When he steps forward Steve relaxes his shoulders at the sight of his upturned lips. But then he sees that it's a tight smile; something marginally exhausted lies in the lines and Steve tenses up again. There are water droplets hanging in his gnarly hair and his shawl is damp from the warm rain. Bucky comes in and kisses Akhona on the cheek before shucking off the shawl and drying his hair with it. He continues in Xhosa, "I saw you dropped off another friend."

"You needed another," Akhona waves a hand. Bucky grunts and lays down on the bed and closes his eyes. "You should get a bigger place. How can you live like this? The two of you. So big in this tiny one room."

"We grew up in a small place. Ain't nothing to it." Bucky replies as he slings his arm over his eyes. Steve reaches to his left to turn the lamplight down.

"Well it's a little cramped lately. With that new goat and all." Steve supplies as he edges out a new angle on the surface of the calabash.

"You will thank me one day." Akhona gripes.

"Why don't we thank you now and politely ask you to take it back with you when you leave in one breath?" Bucky mumbles. Akhona sets her bowl in her lap and turns in her chair to look back at Bucky's limp form. Steve can see from his spot where Bucky's dampness is wetting the pillow and the sheets. Bucky absently kicks the quilt that lays crumpled on the end of the bed to the floor.

"You are an ungrateful bastard, white wolf." She says sternly as she waves a finger at him.

"Oh, so you're calling me that now too?" He snaps at the ceiling. Bucky has never taken unkindly to being called _white wolf_ , but with the way the morning had transpired Steve isn't surprised Bucky is still seething with angst and attitude. Nonetheless, Akhona doesn't deserve his wrath. It's a testament to how close they've gotten, for Bucky to drop his charm and speak to her as such. Steve groans inwardly, knowing Bucky will be terribly regretful about it later and sure not to shut up about it until he makes amends in a grand way.

"Buck," Steve laughs tiredly. "What are you bitching about for?"

"I'm tired." Bucky mutters before turning towards the wall of the hut. Akhona stays for a few more awkwardly silent minutes before declaring Steve can finish the bowls on his own. She places the one she was working on atop the table and begins her retreat from the hut. Steve stands, intending to persuade her back in but before he can speak she straightens in the doorway and speaks with a softness he's never heard from her.

"Rest well, mhibu." Akhona calls to Bucky. When he stays petulantly silent she turns to leave with a sigh and a tired wave of the hand. Steve opens his mouth to apologize but she cuts him off. "It is alright. Take care, rafiki." When she goes, Steve steps towards the bed, eases himself down to sit on the edge and watches Bucky's body move with each breath.

"Honey?" Steve whispers with a gentle drag of his finger over Bucky's bare back. His uncovered stump looks swollen and red so he avoids the area and rests his roving hand on Bucky's hip. Bucky holds his breath.

"She's right." Comes the ragged croak of Bucky's voice.

"About you being a bastard? I've been saying that for ye-"

"Stevie," Bucky breathes out and turns over. Steve's hand slips from its place and lands on the mattress. Bucky reaches for and grabs it and rests it on his other hip. Steve leans into him. Bucky's eyes are glass and he bites at his lip until it bleeds. "Everything hurts today." The humor seeps out of Steve in an instant and he squeezes Bucky's hip reflexively. Steve thinks of this morning, the feel of Bucky's goosebumped skin and the sound of his sniffling nose.

"I know, Buck, 'm sorry. What was she right about?" Steve reaches out with his other hand to tuck an unwashed strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. Bucky suppresses a shiver and sighs, leaning into Steve's lingering hand.

"We need a bigger place. Akhona's been badgering me for months to build you a new one. Shuri too. She thinks we're like two bears living in a foxhole." Bucky speaks softly, his fingers inching closer to Steve's hand on his hip. His feather light touch tickling Steve's knuckles. Steve knows that this conversation is to redirect from the obvious, from Bucky's palpable hurt, but Steve humors him regardless.

"You want one?" Steve asks. Bucky avoids his eyes.

"We could build it together. Me and you. Right here where this one stands. We could build a home together." Bucky's voice is somehow quieter, more unsure as if he doesn't know what he's saying. Steve stops playing with Bucky's hair to focus on the salient tone.

"I thought that's what we've been doing." Steve questions with a quirk of his eyebrow. Steve's argumentative ass has always gotten Bucky to rise to the challenge, whether he wanted to or not. Even now, in Bucky's grey state, his features perk up and he steadies his gaze at Steve. A shot of satisfaction slides down Steve's throat at the minute change in demeanor.

"I mean something that's just me and you. All us. Every board and nail and thatch and pattern and rock and stone. It's our hands, it's our house." Bucky levels his voice and it gets a little louder with each word. His fingers are wrapped around Steve's wrist now and they're squeezing with the rise and fall of Bucky's chest. He means it, _he actually means it_ , Steve realizes. He feels Bucky's pulse jump in time with his. It's hard for Steve to find the words to respond for a minute but when he does it's in a whisper, something airy and laced in wonder. _Bucky means it._

"Is this what you want? To stay here? Is this where we stop?" Steve feels his eyes well up, tries to push it away but Bucky leans up and his heat is unbearable, feverish. An automatic hand shoots out from Steve to feel Bucky's forehead, then the back of his neck, a reflex ingrained in both of them since they could walk.

Since childhood, since grimy Brooklyn streets, since nights spent ruled by fever, they've wanted more. And without knowing what that even meant. Now the answer is here. More was never the serum, never the win of the war or the dozens that came after it. More wasn't even running with each other, becoming the fugitives, the dead men, that they are. More is finishing it all up, putting it to rest. And Steve did that, he stopped fighting for himself and for Bucky. But this may write their ending out, give them finality and a kind of peace they've never been able to reach. To build a home together, for them and only them, is the beginning of the rest of everything they have left. Their lives have been devastating epochs, draining and extraordinary. This next one could be the best to come, better still, the last one.

This could be the end of the path Steve naively stumbled down all those years ago, the path to death and war and irrevocable loss.

"Tell me where else feels like home, sweetheart." Bucky exhales the words onto Steve's skin, chilling him, coating him in the promise of something neither of them thought could be possible. _A fucking house, Jesus._ Steve shakes his head.

"Christ," Steve leans his forehead against Bucky's. A hand hooks onto the back of Steve's neck and anchors him there in a harsh grip. " _Christ,_ let's do it. We'll do it." Bucky takes Steve with him as he lies back down. Steve feels the uncomfortable squelch of the deposited rainwater in their bed as their weight sinks down. The water rises in little puddles and tiny air bubbles that Bucky wrinkles his nose at. He looks up at Steve through his lashes in a wordless sorry. It will be another one of those days, laying in bed and waiting for sleep, deep or not and no matter the time of day. Bucky shifts in Steve's arms, burrows into his hold.

"Ninampenda mpenzi wangu." Bucky whispers against Steve's chest, damp mattress forgotten.

"Ninampenda mpenzi wangu. I love you, Buck." Steve whispers back. And somehow Bucky finds sleep and Steve lays awake making sure it's peaceful until he can do nothing more than fall asleep himself.

* * *

It comes in the midst of their midday slumber. He registers a lightly snoring Bucky plastered on his chest and the pool of drool he leaves there. Steve sits a second before he forces himself to climb out of the bed in search for the device. He knocks into a chair and hears Bucky sniffle, a sign he's coming awake. Steve bends over to rummage for the source of the sound in a basket by the table. When he fishes the flip phone out he answers with closed-tight eyes and a yawn.

"Tony?" Steve mumbles into the phone. There's a beat of silence then a voice replies. A voice that is not Tony's.

" _Steve? God, Steve, it's Bruce._ " The sound of Bruce's voice is enough to snap Steve out of his stupor and he freezes mid-gait on his way back to bed. Bucky's head lolls to the side and his eyes drift open to land on Steve's tense form. A crease forms between his brows.

" _Fuck_ , Bruce. Where the fuck have you been? What the fuck." Steve tries to assess his surroundings, get his bearings. The hut is still light so they haven't slept into the night. The dusk is still approaching and Bucky is sitting up with alarm flitting across his face. _Bruce has been missing for three years._

" _Space. Thor is gone. Tony is gone_." Bruce sounds breathless, truly panicked. Steve's heart pounds in his chest at what he hears. Is Thor _dead_ gone? Is Tony? " _He's coming. It's happening, Steve_." Steve screws his eyes shut and tries to understand. He opens them back up to look at Bucky who he knows can hear the call too but he offers no signs he has any more answers than Steve. The ground underneath Steve feels like it's sinking, ready to swallow Steve up.

"Stevie." Bucky blinks. His voice is hollow and it's crushingly similar to way it sounded in the days of his early recovery, before Wakanda took him in, before Siberia. He sounds empty.

"What's happening?" Steve begs to no one in particular. He feels suspended, like this is the last moment before a long, inevitable drop. As if this were the last second before the air would be punched out of him. And then with Bruce's next words, it is.

" _The end, Cap. Thanos. This is it_."

* * *

The call ends, then others are made. No time passes that is a waste. Every second is spent figuring out what to do next. And Bucky stays silent the entire time.

"I'm coming back. I promise." Steve rests his forehead against the doorway and closes his eyes, filling up the room with words even he doesn't believe. Bucky stands with his arm curled around his own body. He's schooling his expression but Steve knows him, knows when Bucky is scared. Knows when he's madder than hell at the same time.

"Don't promise." Bucky bites his lip and flicks his eyes away. Steve feels his face flush. He's spinning a lie, but it's the only thing he can do for Bucky. The only comfort he can give to either of them. Maybe the lie is more for Steve, anyhow. But what does that matter, at the end of the world?

"I promise. This wasn't some big vacation for me. I wanna end it. I wanna be here with you." Steve looks up and reaches a hand for Bucky, who flinches but then leans into the soft touch on his cheek. If he treats this like any other mission, maybe it will end like any other mission. Maybe he'll come home.

"Don't promise." Bucky repeats and Steve blinks his dumb cow eyes at him. Bucky scoffs and shakes his head. "Just leave. Fucking leave, I know you gotta."

"Honey-"

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad at _you_. Just please go. They need you out there." Bucky says taking a step back. Steve's hand hangs empty in the air before it falls at his side.

"You told me once there are other heroes. They don't really need me. Sam and Nat can get Wanda and Vision on their own. Meet with Bruce without me. I'm a fugitive anyway. I can just..."

"Watch the world end with me cuddled up at your side? Watch people die? To what fucking end, asshole? There are others who will fight, Stevie. But there's only one you. And you can't stay put for this. Shit, I probably can't. You'll be back asking for help, if it's really the end, pal. We can't say no." Steve surges forward and grabs Bucky's hand with both of his.

"Yes we can, Buck. We can say no. If it's the fucking end then we can't really do shit anyway. I can say no. I've been doing it for a while now."

"Stevie, sweetheart," Bucky tilts his head sympathetically. It's 1943 and one of them is ready to fight a war while the other is desperately trying to avoid it. Steve never thought it would be him who would want to stay out. He's struck, suddenly, with an empathetic jolt of nostalgia for Brooklyn before the war. "Tell me honestly, _would you keep walking?_ " And that pulls Steve back. Every fight he's ever been in, thrown himself into, torn himself apart for. It was for this. It was for a reason. He used to ask Bucky the same thing. And here he is turning it back on him. Steve Rogers doesn't let the world burn if there's still blood running through his veins, and Bucky goddamn knows it. Steve nods and stands a little straighter like twenty year old him would have.

"I love-"

" _Go_. For the love of God, get out of here." Bucky turns away and pretends to busy himself at the table. Steve hovers for a heavy moment, feeling the stab of pain in his heart but he bites his tongue and does as ordered. Without another word, he leaves for his next war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily of the Valley - Queen 
> 
> me vs using google translate in attempt to write in xhosa then opting to not because google translate sux (so I got the xhosa from a pdf file that popped up when i googled xhosa endearments)
> 
> mhibu - dear one  
> Wewe ni mrembo sana - You are beautiful  
> Ninampenda mpenzi wangu - I love you lover  
> rafiki - friend
> 
> its almost the end!!!!!!! rip stevebucky was really ab to retire just like that huh?
> 
> as has been the case for most of this fic im going to skip going into detail about the action events of iw.


	42. Guess I'll Wait Another Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another life, I'll keep us bounded

Late April 2018

"Did you see how everyone was watching us out there?" Bucky leans his weight against the wall and pops an orange slice in his mouth. Shuri gave him the fruit as a peace offering for having a battle suit tailored to him already made up for occasions such as today. He had stared at her silently for seven long seconds as she shoved the pile of clothes in his hands. _I know you said you never wanted to fight again but I couldn't help it! I'm sorry, brother. Besides, this will make your eyes shine._

"What? Outside?" Steve asks as he absently adjusts one of his fingerless gloves. Steve shrugs as Bucky slips another wedge into his mouth. "I guess." Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve and his oblivious ass. How could he not notice everyone outside pausing as they groped each other on the landing pad?

"Sweetheart." Bucky chides around his mouthful of fruit. Steve looks at him with a suffering look as the last of his people trickle around them. It's tense and quiet but Sam nods at Bucky nonetheless, then scales back to clap him on the shoulder since the only greeting Bucky got outside was Steve's octopus arms. Natasha winks at him then lingers a few feet away with Sam. T'Challa and Okoye walk ahead with Wanda and Vision. Bruce trails behind murmuring to Colonel Rhodes.

"Are you sure about this, Buck? About going out there again? I meant it when I said you didn't have to." Steve sets his stare on Bucky. Bucky shifts his weight under the gaze.

"And let you die without me?" Bucky asks with a roll of his shoulder. Steve sighs and squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment.

"Bucky, for Christ's sake." Steve mutters opening his eyes back up. He looks his usual battle tired already, funny since they've yet to begin. Bucky flicks a piece of pith in Steve's face then leans in so at least _Sam_ won't hear. He's long since given up trying to keep Natasha out of his private conversations with Steve. Even when she's countries away she usually finds out what they've been up to talking about. Bucky knows what a dramatic oversharer Steve can be.

"Stevie, I told you before. I'd follow you anywhere. I meant it in '43. I mean it now." Bucky whispers to him. Steve nods in return but looks unconvinced.

"Guess I'm just trying to make this as painless as possible. You're not easy to deal with out in the field. Fucking diva." Steve drawls and adds an eye roll for effect. Bucky pinches his side but it does nothing through the thick fabric of Steve's suit. His musty, dirty, old, _pettily_ torn apart Captain America suit. Bucky huffs a weak laugh as he glances down at the spot the star used to be.

"Yeah, well, it's gonna take a fucking act of God to get rid of me now, you son of a bitch." Bucky proclaims tapping a vibranium finger on the blue star shaped cavity. When Steve remains silent Bucky looks back up at him. The humor is gone from the lines of his mouth and the dull shine of his eyes sucks Bucky's lightness out too. He lets his hand fall down to rest safely on Steve's belt. Steve doesn't react.

"I never thought I'd have to see that look again." Steve says.

"What look?" Bucky asks carefully.

"The one you gave me the night you told me you enlisted. You were lying to me then. You're lying still, Buck." Steve replies. Bucky feels cold seep down his bones and moves away slightly to get a better look at Steve's face. It's not often that Steve surpasses Bucky in the I Know You Better Than You Know Yourself game, but here he is. Bucky flicks his eyes over to Sam and Nat and sees them engrossed in their own muted conversation. Nat feels him looking and stares back for a second then taps her wrist twice. _Oh, that's right. The world is ending. They don't have time to start an argument_.

"Never lied a day in my goddamn life, Rogers." Bucky says easily. Steve scoffs at him and Bucky feels the bubble of a laugh try and slip out. Steve smiles too and bumps his forehead against Bucky's. Bucky tightens his grip on the belt and pulls Steve into him.

"When it's over," Steve begins, warm breath landing on Bucky's skin. "We'll build that house. I'll build you a house."

"I'm holding you to it, sweetheart." Bucky responds, letting his eyes drift closed. He takes in the closeness of Steve, of all he is against the surface of his skin. He's done this a thousand times for a thousand years, but he can never quite memorize it perfectly the way it feels in the moment. This is the calm, the rest, the idleness Bucky had wanted and got. He got it for two years. But just as Brooklyn wasn't forever, and thank fuck the war wasn't forever, or Hydra or Romania, _this_ is not forever either. Bucky shakes his head, tickling the sides of Steve's face with his hair. Shuri had made him wash it. T'Challa suggested it. Okoye side eyed him, but Shuri physically shoved him towards a shower in the lab. Bucky feels Steve lock a finger around a strand of hair tug lightly, an _I'm here_ of touches. Bucky sighs. "I love-"

"Uh, Cap," Bruce's voice breaks them apart. Steve blinks blearily before focusing on Bruce and Rhodes who stand a safe distance away watching them with unreadable expressions. "Sorry, but um, we need you. All of you." He looks at Sam and Nat then drags his sight on Bucky again. They'd never met before, him and Bruce. Bucky releases Steve and resumes severing an orange slice from the fruit and sucking out the juice.

"Get to it, soldier." Bucky tells Steve with a wink. When a faint blush appears on Steve's cheeks Bucky grins.

"Jesus, asshole, don't call me that." Steve grumbles and they start following Bruce and Rhodes who lead ahead. Bucky can't help himself and, furthermore, doesn't bother being quiet when he continues next because he loves the red, worked up sight of Steve Rogers.

"Where'd the dutiful enthusiasm go? That wasn't what you were saying when-"

" _Fuck off._ " Steve grits out but he's trying, and failing, to stamp down a smile. Bucky laughs at him.

"Alright, let's save it. Stick to the task at hand." Sam interjects, sending Bucky a warning look. There's a current of laughter running underneath his seriousness but Sam is right. They've got a job to do. Bucky has a mission, a right mission, a mission he _chose_.

He thinks that, maybe, he could save the world one more time by Steve's reckless, dumbass side.

"Let's go then." Steve straightens and Bucky feels his right arm twitch with the urge to mock salute him like he did in the war when Steve got too big for his britches. They let the teasing die then Bucky's ears prick up at Bruce's words. They're too quiet for Sam to hear, maybe even Natasha, but one glance over to Steve shows he's hearing it too.

"Is that new? Did I miss that too?" Bruce asks Rhodes and not as subtly as he thinks looks back at Steve and Bucky in his peripheral vision.

"Shit, Banner, I wish we had the time." Rhodes replies shaking his head. Steve bites his lip and keeps staring ahead. Bucky elbows his side. When Steve shakes his head in refusal Bucky does it again and Steve reluctantly glances at him. Bucky cheekily blows him a kiss. It makes Steve smile wider and Bucky delights in any bit of warmth he can manage to pull from Steve today. This is familiar. The wading into war with jokes ready on their tongues to play it down.

This is routine, them locking pinky fingers for a split second to reassure each other of their presence. In the conference room, in the lab, on the uneven soil of Wakanda as they wait in a formidable line.

This is expected, them berating each other in front of the team on how stupid they're (Steve) being before and during the battle. Especially during, and _especially_ when Steve takes on too much on his own that Bucky literally has to rip him out of the clutches of some alien.

This is typical, Steve running headlong in while Bucky steadfastly watches his back. Keeping his eye out so that Steve doesn't get himself killed. How he's managed to live this long with the Avengers is a miracle.

This is even inevitable, it turns out, the ending as it comes. The close to the fight. It is just as it was then in their first war, just as it is now. Bucky feels that same feeling as it happens; the instant panic, the minute regret, the millisecond of _Steve_ before it all stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Lifetime - Nao
> 
> this is short i know but the next one wont be. originally i was just gonna do the next chapter for this one but then this came to me and why not. whatever u know? anyway only a few more chapters left and im going to try and have them out before the end of january:)


	43. Until The Time We Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will always love you how I do  
> Let go of a prayer for ya  
> Just a sweet word  
> The table is prepared for you

After the End

Days breeze by, pile up like dead leaves, and Steve hardly notices. He attends meetings in a far off room that is only used by the team, the _remainder_ of the team; the remainder of anyone who is left to help. The _original Avengers_ , as it turns out to be, are the ones who've been left behind.

Steve found himself laughing about it in one of their unending meetings. It was maybe a week after The Snap, at least Steve vaguely believed that it was. Tony'd quipped about the band being back together and it set Steve off in a trickling chuckle that turned into an uncontrollable shake. How apt, Steve had thought, for him to have his first and last fight in this century with the same group of shattered creatures. He laughed so long, and haltingly, that Natasha had to drag him from the meeting room and let him slide his weight against the wall until he was choking on air against the cool tile of the floor. She knelt beside him, one pale hand resting on his back until he could see again. She watched him with indifference, searingly and knowingly, as he swiped his thumbs under his eyes.

The problem, as it is, isn’t necessarily on Earth. And they don’t have the effective means of reaching their destination with the broken down ship Nebula and Tony came in on. Thor, with Heimdall dead, has lost his effective means of travel and cannot seem to help them. No one else has any connections in Space to exploit. And Steve, though he’s trying to help, can’t remember where they said they were supposed to go. Or need to go. He's evidently still reeling from losing Bucky again. And Sam on top of that. And half the universe on top of _that_.

Everyone seems to be walking around like a ghost, but they’re still managing to contribute. Even Natasha is uncharacteristically optimistic and hands on. In fact, it's as if she's stepped forward and is doing Steve's job. He would’ve thought she would see this as it is: a loss or a failure. But it's her that’s dragging Steve to meetings and spars and work shops to figure this all out. It's her who is waking him up and wringing him for opinions and answers he doesn't hear himself give. He's trying, he's fucking _trying_ but maybe he's reached the breaking point, finally. _Finally_. He'd thought he might have hit it before; in '45 when the Valkyrie went down or in 2014 when a dead man broke his ribs. But this is different. So different and purely alien. He's never outrightly failed to save the world before. He's experienced loss and had to deal with it in immeasurable form but he has never let the universe completely and undeniably down. Trillions are dead and it is on his hands. Worse, everyone else knows it too.

He's asked to help repair the ship Nebula and Tony came in on, which received all its current damage on the journey to Earth. His job is to lift heavy objects and stay out of the way when he's not. Sometimes he hands Tony things and makes passing conversation. Pepper is still alive and so is Rhodey. But the loss of Peter is weighing on Tony enormously so both him and Steve remain rather despondent in the beginning. Eventually Tony starts coming around but Steve does not. Mostly, Steve stays quiet and no one seems to blame him. Shuri comes by, when she can spare a moment away from running the country, trying to improve the ship in any way she can and improving any other tech for them she can. Nebula is there with Rocket, patrons of the repairs. Nebula hardly speaks as well, unless it's with Rocket. Even then it's few words. None of them really do speak all that much.

It's hard to make any sort of conversation when all their friends are dead.

After two weeks of lifting things and being unconsciously seclusive the repairs are finished and Steve's help is no more needed. Steve concludes that now could be the time to put himself to work on something useful so long as there is still deliberation on what actions to take next in regards to universal salvation. He's reminded of what he should be doing when Tony makes an offhand comment about the goats during a quiet lunch. Two are gone but the others, and Steve Kiev, are still ghosting around the empty hut. Steve doesn't sleep there anymore, can't possibly when Bucky is gone. He stays in a small room with Natasha in the palace and goes to see the goats once early, early in the morning then again before sundown. He'd forgo the visits entirely and ask Akhona to tend after the remaining animals but she's gone too. After Tony asks after the goats Steve remembers all those heavy laden promises of house building and retirement. That night he goes back to the hut in the dark and stares at the black outline of the hut. The cart by the tree. The poke of the pen out from behind the hut. Bucky's stumps around the fire pit. The empty calabash bowl resting on stones lining the pit.

Bucky was wrong, the world isn’t going to correct itself. Either they correct it, or let it smolder in dusty ruin.

He gets the materials easily because Bucky had already ordered the things they needed. _Eager bastard_. He planned on building before they even set plans together. T'Challa had the works stored somewhere near the lab for Bucky. Shuri knew about it and when Steve offhandedly mentions his departure from the palace to begin working on something by the hut she brings up the storeroom of Bucky's materials. Steve tells her he doesn't know what she's talking about and in a haze she leads him through the palace to an area he's never been before. One of the Dora that accompanied them opens the large door and lets him inside. He walks in already in awe from the doorway. He stares at the lumber, the roofing, the windows, the doors, and other piled necessities littering the sizable room. It's everything he needs for the bare bones of the house they wanted. Shuri watches him run his hands along the planks of wood and even fucking paint cans. _He didn't even let Steve pick out paint colors with him_. After a weighty silence, her voice rings about the storeroom, "Don't mistake my showing you this for approval. You have priorities. You have lives to save. We all do. But we're in a stalled spot. You might as well busy yourself outside these walls. The Dora are sick of watching you shuffle around here like some three-legged sloth. Moaning about for your missing limb." Then she and the Doras leave him.

Through the next week, he begins planning and mapping out the dimensions and hauling materials back to the hut. Then he packs up everything they own, which turns out to be a great deal of odds and ends, and brings all that up to the storeroom. He reconfigures the animal pen far enough away to be out of harms way when he begins tearing the hut down. Steve Kiev wanders aimless and independently. Steve is constantly yelling at the chicken to get out of the way but in true chicken form, she ignores him and clucks where she pleases.

"Well if you get knocked out by a hammer or beheaded by an ax don't come clucking at me!" He shouts at her, hands on his hips as she stands on top of plank he was about to saw.

"I thought you didn't talk to the animals." Nat's voice startles him and he turns to see her standing behind him with her arms crossed. She looks like she's been somewhere with dirt and remnants of blood clinging to the outlines of her face and neck. Her clothes are casual civilian wear, but still torn and dirtied.

"Where've you been?" Steve grouses. Nat scoffs at him.

"Where have _you_ been?" She asks with barely concealed anger. It's rare to see her with raw emotion peaking threw her steely surface but times have been stranger. "Nobody's seen you for days. It's been three weeks-" _shit._ "-since we finished the ship. Are you giving up? I mean, what the fuck, Steve."

"I'm building a house." He lamely supplies, extending his arms out to gesture at the foundation and appropriate mess of tools and wood and cement around him. She only looks angrier.

"And we're trying to fix this goddamn mess. I thought you were too," She says before turning away and charging up the hill. Then she halts and marches back to plant herself in front of him. "For the love of God, Rogers. I've been doing your godforsaken job. I've been to every major country on this Earth digging people out of ruins and stopping massive breakouts of hysteria. I've talked to governments. As _me_. As Natasha Romanoff, the woman who was a fugitive last year and a wanted murderer for the other bit of her sorry life. I'm trying to bandage this shit while we figure out how to undo it. And you're...building a house? For who? A dead man? Is this your way of saying you think we're wasting our time? Maybe we should all just drop everything and build our own shitty houses for our _dead_ friends to live in!" Her cheeks are red and her eyes have a sheen to them. He has never seen her this way, and he takes a step back in face of it.

"Nat, I-"

"Get a grip." She spits then leaves him standing in the mess of his and Bucky's house. He tries, after that, to split his time more fairly between working and building. But it's only a matter of time before he's back spending his days putting up walls and installing windows when it's clear nobody has a solution yet.

Nat doesn't come around again.

He doesn’t know how long it takes until he visits the palace for a meeting, _another fucking meeting_ , and sees a timeline someone constructed pinned to the wall in the designated Avengers Business Only room. In a staggering nine months the house is finished, empty with only the things they used to have in the hut spread out in the empty space. He built a master bedroom for him and Bucky. He built a small library, an art studio, and one modest guest bedroom for when people come to visit. The goats linger in the doorway then come in without any prompting. Steve lets them. He lets Steve Kiev too. He’s grateful, at least, for their odd company.

Steve hangs up their meager inventory of clothes in the roomy closet, lingering on Bucky's shoulder wraps as he fingers the smooth threads. They only have three pairs of shoes between them to place on the mat by the front door. With no new furniture in the house it's impossibly empty and Steve can't bear to remain still with the blankness. Bucky would want something to look at.

Steve starts by taking the photographs of the Barnes girls, of himself and Bucky, and of his mother out of the chest and pins them and hangs them about the house. Even the explicit polaroids Bucky took himself make it on the naked walls. He tacks up letters, napkin notes, and cardstock reminders. If it's flat, it goes on the walls. If it's an object then it gets placed on a table or a shelf, or if it's G's books they go on the bookshelf in the studio Steve built along with Bucky's journals.

The only thing that does not get hung up is the picture Steve drew in 1923 of Bucky Barnes. It must have been taken to war just as it had some seventy years ago.

At the bottom of the chest, wrapped in purple cloth, is a stack of letters addressed to Steve and looking relatively new. They're from Bucky, Steve can immediately tell by the distinct swoop of how the A's are written. These are the letters Bucky said he was going to write when Steve first started going on missions again. He never gave them to him and Steve thought he never actually wrote them when Bucky never gave him any. Now, Steve opens them with slow, light touches, as if they're glass sheets a second away from shattering. His heart pounds when he reads every word. Most are left unsigned and partially dated and they're not in any kind of particular order. Half are unfinished but he drinks in the sound of Bucky's voice on the thin pages.

_July 19th_

_Maybe some things really are once in a lifetime and trying to have you in this one is a losing battle._

_See, I had you in Brooklyn, Christ did I, and that was more than I deserved. I even had you in the war when you belonged to the cause more than you belonged to yourself. But now it’s different, isn’t it? You don’t belong to anyone, not even me. Maybe that’s the greatest joke of them all; me, ever thinking you did at some point. I used to look over at you, all edges and angles with your feet on my lap, and call you mine._

_Sometimes I forget that you’re alive, after you’ve left for your missions. Like the visit was just a dream. I made you up all gruesome and tired. Run ragged but hot and sweet against my healing skin. Then I remember it is fucking real but you just won’t stay. Or can’t stay. Maybe I don’t blame you for that. It was always you, you know? Going to fight. I was just tagging along. Keeping you upright._

_I’ve always followed you anywhere._

_What will it take for you to follow me? And I don’t mean around the world on a hunt for a man who lost his memory. I don’t mean through a Russian bunker. I don’t even mean to Africa, to the hills of it, the fields of it._

_I mean what will it take for you to follow me home, here, where I carved it like stone, like a master artist who rips at marble, for us and us alone?_

_Shit, Steve. I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m just angry today. I had a bad night is all. Same as always, I’m missing you bad. So fuck you, actually, I wish you would stay. Why can’t it stop? There’s a new hero everyday. It’s like a factory is churning them out. I wish sometimes that it was enough for you. I know that’s a lot to ask. But I’m selfish and I have a right to be. I wish that I could be enough for you. I wish I was your settle down. I want to be your home again, and I want you to be mine. Natasha told me once you don’t know what that is anymore. Fuck you and look at me. Because even if I’m not it, I can help you find it._

* * *

Tony comes by to see the finished house. He had been a steady visitor throughout the process, pulling him away for world saving business and to give tips and even help on the odd occasion. Pepper came by to paint a couple times after Tony had her brought in to Wakanda to have her near. Steve ached when he saw her, ached when he watched her and Tony hold on to one another. Tony tells Steve that they're close to figuring something out and Steve tries to believe him. But after every mission and frantic flight far away Steve still comes home to an empty house. On one visit, Tony runs his hands over the letters Steve has pinned up in his living room as if they are the broad strokes of grand, stretching mural.

_December 4th_

_I helped a goat give birth today._

_Steve, it was fucking gross._

_But Steve, life is starting to be beautiful again._

* * *

_April 15th_

_I tried to draw my hut today. Remember when we took art classes before the war? You were so goddamn good. I know it wasn’t effortless. You put everything into it, just like with all the things you do. And you’d been drawing since you could hold a pencil. But it's never stuck for me. I’ll show you though, my drawing, when you come visit next. If anything, to give you a laugh. Let's draw together again sometime. Knock our shoulders against each other and mess each other up. Some things, I suppose, I do miss from our old life. ~~But that doesn't mean I~~_

* * *

_August 1st_

_Sometimes I dream of your death and I wake up feeling nothing at all. I can’t move for hours. Funny, because when I dream of my death I wake up screaming._

_Do you think I’m waiting for it? And that’s why I don’t cry out for your soul? Do you think a part of me feels something coming? Maybe there is something...something coming._

* * *

_June 8th_

_Shuri reminds me of my sisters. Fuck. Some days it's hard to be around her. I miss them._

_I missed their whole fucking lives. I didn’t get to watch them grow up and get married. I didn’t get to be there when their children came into this world. I haven't even met them in this life. I could, but I don't. It was hard to see G, but that's because I knew her. I've never met these people, this great and sprawling family that can't possibly want me around, after all this time, after all I've done._

_Sometimes I let myself wonder what it would be like to have lived on with them. To see all that chaotic love spread around. G told me once that her and Ruth moved out of Brooklyn because they couldn't be there without me._

_Jesus, there ain't no use in thinking so hard on this all. I fucking know it. But I miss them. So terrible. And I know you miss them too. ~~I want~~_

* * *

Shuri comes by on a Thursday night and sits down at the small table in his kitchen. She looks around quietly, just like how she entered the house, then leans her head into her hands and begins crying. Steve sets a thin white rag next to her right elbow and sits down beside her. He reaches out a hand to rub circles on her back and she immediately leans into him and cries against his shoulder. He holds her tight until she's exhausted herself. Then, "The one- the one about Natasha was funny."

"What?" Steve asks pulling back to looking at her. She grabs the rag and wipes her face and blows her nose. She nods at the far wall in the living room which can be seen from the kitchen with his open floor plan.

"I was there when he wrote it." She adds around a sniffle.

"I haven't gotten to that one yet." Steve gets up to get her a glass of water.

"You haven't read them all?" She asks turning around in her chair to watch him.

"Once I've read them all, I've read them all." Steve shrugs as he comes back to sit with her. She takes the glass and sips silently. They sit there until morning.

* * *

_January 2nd_

_Why is it that every time Nat comes to visit she refuses to bring her cat? You told me she had one and, listen, I’m a master at reading people. I know when they’re lying and when they’re telling the truth. But I can’t figure out if she is or not. Does she have a cat? Does Natasha have a cat, Steve???_

* * *

_October 22nd_

_I don’t miss my arm. Either of them. Flesh or metal, don't give a goddamn. I don’t miss who I was or who I was supposed to be when we knew each other. I’m so glad we’re different. I'm so glad we grew up. Became new people. I love you, and have loved you at every point in my life. But I need who you are now. And you need who I am now. Even more, I'm glad I can recognize that now. I was so afraid for a long time. But now I've got it, I think. I'm in the swing of things._

* * *

_April 3rd_

_Why don’t you hate me? Why don't you ~~want me dead~~ I'm sorry I keep asking too much of you. Feels like I'm always trying to tear you away from what makes sense to you._

* * *

_March 24th_

_Steve Kiev was asking after you today, you dumb shit. She said she was wondering why every time she wants to swim with you in the lake you end up pussying out. As if I didn't force you to learn how to swim when you were ten. I gave your mother a heart attack every day for a week when you came home like a soaked cat after our lessons. I still don't know why you let me make you do that, pal. For someone who likes to say no and push back when you're getting pulled you sure don't say no to me as often as you should._

* * *

In the winter, Steve goes on a series of reconstruction missions. This is what half their work is now. Part finding a way to reverse The Snap and part fixing the damage The Snap had done. People, and the Avengers themselves for their part, have been doing intense outreach since May, but these missions are vastly large in scale and coordinated with other groups and governments. The governments themselves are in shambles and most countries have declared states of emergency. Some people in the world blame the Avengers wholeheartedly and wish nothing to do with them. Dozens of their missions are cut short because they are forced out of cities and countries by radical protest groups. The people who still believe in them, or at least don't stick the entirety of the blame on them, welcome their aid. Highway crashes are still being sifted through and cleaned up. Fallen buildings, which were destroyed by falling aircraft, are still being combed through. There was a moment, in the beginning of the aftermath, that a vast amount of the population believed it was only the first wave of fallout. People took to ground or started panicking. Burning buildings and looting businesses and homes. Riots sprang up in every country and caused more destruction than the initial Snap. Fire still burns everywhere Steve goes.

_September 14th_

_You laughed when I gave you a cup of juice I made myself. It was tired and full of something thick and sad. Like you’ve got this longing for the life I could give you. You told me once, before the war, I remember, that you couldn’t understand why I hadn’t bothered trying to enlist. Well now it's my turn: Why haven’t you bothered trying to get out? Hasn’t it been long enough? Have we not paid our price ten times over?_

_Stevie. I see that look. I know that look. You hate it all, this ongoing fight. You want to stop, I know you do. But you can’t. You think the blood is climbing higher, lapping on the shore so far up to the dock. You think it's taking you over. And you think since you ain’t me you don’t have an excuse to not be guilty. Yeah, you stupid fuck, I know how you think. You don’t mean it in no bad way. I don’t really give a damn how you mean it. I just know you think the more hearts you stop the less you belong in this world or worse, the less someone’s gonna love you or want you around. And I know in your stupid fucking head you think for some reason I’m that someone. You’re dead wrong, you stupid fuck. Get this:_

_I am never going to stop loving you. Believe me, I've fucking tried._

_I was five years old and burning over you with a shitty sketch of me stuffed under my pillow. I didn’t even know what it meant to love you but I did._

_I was ten years old when you pushed me away and I still kept thinking about your mouth on mine. We had a thousand first kisses and I loved every one of them. I didn’t stop loving you then._

_I was sixteen years old when my sister found me out but it didn’t stop me. Fear didn’t stop me from loving you._

_Your ma died, I didn’t stop._

_My folks died, I didn’t stop._

_I left you for war and I never even thought about stopping._

_I was laid out on a table in a dank, dark factory somewhere in Austria and didn’t stop._

_I put my shaking hands on an alien body, your new skin, and didn’t stop loving you._

_I killed people with my bare hands and watched you do the same goddamn thing and I didn’t stop._

_I died and I didn’t stop. Steve, Jesus, I fell off that goddamn train knowing on the way down I still loved you._

_I lost, I forgot who I was, and I didn’t stop. I was taken away from myself and I didn’t stop. Your name was the first thing on my lips when the ice melted, when the wipes faded._

_We came back to each other, miraculously, and I haven’t stopped._

_I watch you as these months go by and I see you greying away like the ghost I used to be. I only love you harder, deeper, with meaning and honesty._

_I love you with blood on my hands and fury still smoldering in my bones. I’m angry, but I’m better. I’m terribly lost but I’m remembering how to find my humanity again._

_And I know I’ve loved you. I know that I do. I know that I will._

_Lay it all down at someone else’s feet, sweetheart. Come home. And maybe you can start feeling all this overflowing love I've got burning for you. Asshole._

* * *

Natasha comes around again. They see each other for Avengers business but she hadn't been to the house since that day she came to yell at him for his shitty priorities. She tells him it's nice as she walks through the house on silent feet. All her previous fury is snuffed out. She glances at Bucky's letters then continues on to the art studio where nothing has been touched. She notes, in fact, that nothing in the house but the bed and the kitchen have been touched. Steve doesn't bother responding since he knows she understands why.

Steve has stopped letting the animals inside but instead keeps them close out the backdoor in a new pen he built. Natasha spends three nights there with him while they wait for Nebula and Rocket to get back to Earth. Tony went too but they didn't need everyone. Even Thor stayed back on Earth.

They sleep side by side and on the third night Steve is shaking so bad that Nat slides in close and holds him until orange light filters through the cotton white curtains.

_July 30th_

_I tried to leave it all behind me but there you were when I woke up, groaning from the ache of another fight. It’s so familiar, so fucking familiar. You’ve been doing the same thing since you could take a punch._

_That’s when I realized how inescapable it all is. I’m never gonna forget again, not anything, pal. But I’m not ever gonna do all that again. I’m done killing. I’m done going to war. And if you so much as look at me like you’re gonna ask me to I’ll rip my other arm off. Try recruiting me then, asshole._

_I bet you didn’t like that joke._

* * *

_May 2nd_

_I like lilac, the color. I like the way it looks in the morning on the horizon. I like the way it looks through the thin of your skin, your blood running underneath. I like the way a woman from the village paints beautiful landscapes and when I asked her to she painted bushels of lilacs for me. I like best that when I showed you the painting the next morning you came and helped me plant them outside our door._

* * *

_May 7th_

_A fucking goat ate half my fucking lilacs. FUCK. This is why we lived in the fucking city. Fucking goat can go fuck himself._

* * *

_May 20th_

_I planted more without you and it felt ten kinds of wrong. I miss seeing your fingers in the dirt next to mine, asking me if you’re doing it right. I miss you wiping your hands on me then pushing me over in the mess you made. I miss you kissing me dizzy as the sun goes down, leaving our bodies to find heat another way._

_Remember Daisy? I know you do. I thought about her the other day and yesterday I asked T’Challa if I could get some daisies to plant. They’re next to the lilacs. Steve, they’re so bright and beautiful._

* * *

_November 18th_

_How many times have we been here? Bleeding out on a wooden tabletop. Fingernails grating the grain. Chips and more blood. A breath, a cough, a whisper, a blink. There is life here. Between the berry bushes and the sun. There is life here. With the breeze carrying blonde locks across the bridge of a nose. Pale lashes blinking into the sun, golden and warm. I like the way you look when blood trickles from your mouth. But I hate the way you come home to me looking that way._

* * *

_February 5th_

_I wanna find balance. Within you and me, within my skin and bones. I wanna feel like I'm standing up straight and that you're there next to me like you used to be. I was always the one rushing death at your side, following you to the edge of the Earth and back. Maybe it's your turn. Because I can't keep doing what you're doing now. I can't go there or I ain't coming back._

_I wanna come home from war._

_Finally, I wanna climb down from the train, hat in hand and land my feet on the platform. I wanna see you waiting for me in the crowd, just like I used to dream before you came on over to hell and brought me back to life. I used to picture you in your suspenders, too loose because really they were my old ones. Your hair sloppy because it could never sit right. Your shirt ruffled from you pushing through the crowd._

_I never got what they got, see? I never got to come back, maybe with a medal for my troubles, and try out living. I never married a pretty girl and had half a dozen kids and lived in a house identical to my neighbor's. I didn't get a backyard with a swing. I didn't get a cozy company job that woulda drove me to my fucking grave._

_I got death. And death. And death. And death until the day I had to die again by remembering your face on a bridge in Washington._

_I never got to see you in that stuffy train station, stinking of oil and sweat and the waft of your soap. I never got to go home with you back to our apartment and help you put supper on. I never got dinners with you again. Or the nights, bodies pressed close. Or the mornings, mouths pressed tight. Or the afternoons, reading books and watching you sketch the way my toes curled into your side._

_I never got you back._

_And I know, you never got me back._

_Both of us, now, have been mourning each other over and over. Writing eulogies for sick boys and sad soldiers. Been spreading holy water over our worn caskets. Letting our minds lower our dead and gone youth into the hard ground, wormy and empty._

_I'm sorry that neither of us has had the chance to come home. Even more now that I'm trying with every bit of the good things left in me to try and stumble my way out of the blood._

_I'm sorry for it, for the past, for us. I'm sorry._

* * *

By the time the Avengers put together an actual plan the United Nations is somewhat back on their feet. Mass hysteria, paranoia, and upset is coming to a plateau. A militated level of routine has been established internationally. There is still unrest but it is minimal in regards to the way it was before. Steve dons his suit, cuts his hair, and shaves off his unruly beard which he had let run wild. Natasha's hair is still blonde at the ends but the red has shone through and sprung out from the roots. Everyone is suited up. Even Pepper has convinced Tony to let her help. Two days before they plan to take action a ship lands outside of Wakanda. Thor, Clint, Steve, and Nat go to investigate and find a handful of unfamiliar passengers. A woman comes out first, dressed in a suit of red, blue, and yellow; her hands clenched and her eyes hard. Behind her a being made of rocks and another Woman with dark hair and a white and gold suit emerge. Thor runs up to the woman in white and gold and pulls her tight against him, spinning her around in a hug. She resists at first, but Steve watches as she slowly hugs him back.

"Who are you?" Steve asks the blonde woman who carries herself like the leader. She walks closer to them, sizing them up along the way.

"I'm here to help." She says with a cock of her head. "I'm Captain-"

"Oh, thank God." Clint exhales with no regard to who hears him.

"-Marvel." The woman finishes.

* * *

_June 8th_

_Do you think that in another life, another time, we'd all be together? Maybe it's me and you and Sarah and my folks and my sisters. Maybe it's us and the Commandos and Peggy and Howard and Daisy. Maybe it's them and it's us and it's the Avengers all together. In one sweet, singsong place. With flowers we planted and stars we hung ourselves. Maybe clouds you blew from your lungs crisscrossing in the sky. I'd let you paint the sun, too, if you really really wanted. But I get to sculpt the birds and their springtime sounds._

_Maybe in this sanctuary, this everlasting self-created infinity, we could be different people too. People without nightmares, night terrors. Ghosts and trauma. We could be without all the relentless hurt._

_But we never came to be a fixed point - not a 'one universe' body. And in our multitudes we ignored death until the very second it happened to us. We watched, immortal and vagrant and selfish, we watched the days flatten to nights, rise to mornings without feeling and with not enough sunlight. Maybe you could have had a life where you woke up next to Peggy, instead of me. Had a kid or two. Maybe I'd come over for Sunday dinners and we'd fuck in the light of the porch lamps while Peggy retreated to bed not batting an eye but knowing damn well what we were getting up to. Maybe it wouldn't have been like that at all and it was over with the war. Maybe we'd been so swept up in each other because of the blood and once it ended we would've found a way away from each other._

_Shit, even I know that's bullshit._

_There's no life, no day, no hour where we don't belong to one another. We are blurs in the cosmos, just two inconsequential souls that can't live without the other._

* * *

_April 27th_

_The way it could be, going home, wherever that is, and lying next to you until my heart quits. I'd take that. I would. I'd take it in a second._

_Sometimes I think you think I dream of the past, of Brooklyn. Well, I don't. I don't need that anymore. Maybe for a period I did. But I was wistful once, even before. But now I'm certain. Of here. Of now. Shit, of the present we kiss good morning at every sunrise._

_I don’t even dream of the future much, just little things every now and then. Like what we should do together. Where we should go. What we have for dinner._

_And I don’t notice it, but I think I’m only dreaming of the present. And this may be the first time in my life that I’m doing it._

_You came home, finally. And that’s all I wanted. And I’m more grateful than you will ever know. Call it what it is, I’m trying to fucking retire with you, you antsy son of a bitch._

_But this morning, you left again. And I know you had to. And I wanted you to._

_But if I could do anything - anything - I would tell you every truth I knew, no matter how I thought you'd take it. I'd tell you exactly who I thought I was, no hearing your voice in my head feeding me heart shaped biases. I'd tell you the things I did. I'd tell you the darkest things I wanted. I'd tell you about the people I met and what I did to them because of it. I'd even tell you all the people I've had the misfortune of falling a little in love with. But I've got the idea you already know all about that. I'd tell you all I thought you were too, beautiful bastard. I don't feed your ego nearly as much as I should. Fuck you, ~~you're the goddamn galaxy to me.~~_

_Stevie, sweetheart, I'd take us away. If I could do anything. I'd rebuild us from the ground up. Lay new foundations at our feet and stand the walls straight and high to keep you warm when it snows. I'd do anything for you to be warm all the time, no matter what. ~~I would~~_

_We could leave. Get lost. Build that house I said I wanted to build. Forget who we are. We could use your ma's name and start off clean. Be two cranky, old Mr. O'Ceallaighs. That was Sarah's name, before she married. I know you told me you weren't ready to hear that yet. I used to say it to myself sometimes after she died. I tried it with your name in front of it. I thought it would give you something sweet to hold onto. But I never told you because it never felt right. You were my Steve Rogers, no matter what. You still are. Some days, fuck this is humiliating no matter how long we've been fucking, but some days I'd try it with my name like some lovesick asshole._

_God. Fucking forget that, if you will? Imagine if Sam found out about that? Imagine if Nat...Jesus._

_Whatever, anyway. You remember when - well, damn, I know you remember this. But remember when I'd kiss you when we were kids? We were little, just bumbling fools skipping down the street. Tripping on nothing and laughing too loud. We'd come home and Sarah'd be there in her nurse's dress, tired as hell but beaming at us. We'd kiss all the time, so innocent. Then we got a little older. Still did it. But less. Around when I was ten or eleven you would get spooked if I got too close to you so I stopped stealing kisses. But then the summer you turned twelve I remember walking back from Coney Island with you. You were grumping up a storm, red cheeks and nose burnt from the sun. Your hair was still drying from when we dipped in the water to cool off. I don't remember why you were upset. Didn't really care then, so I don't care now. But I couldn't stop staring at your cheeks. See, when you get real burnt, you get all these incredible freckles over your nose and cheekbones. That was the first time I wanted to kiss you not so innocently. I wanted to kiss you because there were stars dotted on your skin. I wanted to kiss you because I missed the way it felt to do it. I wanted to take you by the shoulders and shut your rambling up with my mouth running over yours and over your face. I imagined how the heat coming off you would feel on my lips. But I let you rage on, because that was something else to behold anyway._

_I'll take you away, someday, to somewhere where your cheeks will do that again. This time, I'll kiss 'em until those freckles fade away._

_What I'm saying is, I love you. That's all. That's all it ever was._

* * *

“What if I fail again?” Steve whispers under his breath. He's slipping his fingerless gloves on, tugging them tight with a grimace. They're inside the ship, Nebula and Rocket at the helm. Tony backseat driving with Rhodey trying to get him to shut up. Clint is goading Tony on. Natasha is next to Steve, watching him closely. Captain Marvel, _Carol_ , is in the other ship with Valkyrie, Thor, Bruce, and the man made of rocks, Korg. There are others who are waiting behind, like Wong, Nakia, M'Baku, Kate, and a handful of other New York vigilantes that have come out of the woodwork ready to save the world. Carol commandeered another ship for them. Everyone is ready, everyone is holding their breath.

“You never failed in the first place. It was us. It's still us. It's always gonna be. And we are not gonna fail this time, Steve." She assures him. Her hand over his makes him draw his eyes up to hers and for the first time since before the world went to shit he feels like he can win this, they all can. Steve and Natasha watch each other, like they've been doing for the past few months. Like they've been doing for the past few years. How grateful he is to have woken up in this godforsaken time with her as a constant; how much he loves her, truly, sharply, and undiluted. Her hand squeezes his and he returns the reassurance.

"We're not gonna fail." He repeats her words and knocks his forehead against hers. She rolls her eyes at him and takes back her hand.

"I can't wait 'til Barnes gets back so I don't have to deal with your physical contact bullshit. You were never this clingy before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Godspeed - Frank Ocean
> 
> bucky and his writing...phew. what y'all think he's up to while steve is out here angsting? hmmmmmm stay tuned maybe you'll find out hehe & we are IGNORING the endgame trailer!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> yes i did in fact allude to the fact that the defenders are helping the avengers what about it
> 
> i wrote a short oneshot called "Written July 4th 2018". it's a letter from Steve to Bucky (how the tables have turned) and it is angsty!!!! but if that is of interest to you go check her out if not thats okay it definitely isnt integral to this fic but it can go along w it for sure thank u love u and good luck with the next chapter


	44. Count Your Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey don't you know it's time,  
> I feel its time,  
> Somebody told you cause you got to know  
> That all you ever gonna have to count on  
> Or gonna wanna lean on  
> Its gonna feel just like those raindrops do  
> When they're falling down, honey, all around you.

"James, shut that window!"

Bucky snaps his head around at the sound of his mother's voice. He sees her stirring at the stove, hair pulled back with loose strands framing her glistening face. She has one hand on her hip and she shifts uncomfortably on her feet. Ruth is sitting at the table doing schoolwork, her face serious as she writes quietly, a completely unnatural occurrence in this house. His father is not here, at least that he can see, so he must still be working. Becca isn't here either. Or Georgie. Bucky turns his head back to the window to see his hands resting on the window sill. He's bent over with his body angling out to feel the wintry breeze. Snow flurries land precariously on the outer edge; inching closer and closer to his fingertips, glittering in tones of blue and yellow. He obeys his mother's command and shuts the window with a slam. It always needs more force than it should - it's funny that way.

"Bucky! I need your help!" Ruth calls out to him. He looks at her, looking small and messy at the table in the kitchen. She's the skinniest of them all. Always worrying their mother about her health. They've known children who died from starvation in the early days of the Depression. She's giving her best pout and pushing thick brown hair out of her eyes.

"You don't need any help you just want everyone to do everything for you." Bucky complains goodnaturedly. Ruth slumps then regains her intensity a second later.

"I do not! Bucky, please?" Ruth pleads. Bucky throws his head back and sighs dramatically. They always ask him for favors and not each other because they know he'll do anything they want. Just then, their father rounds the corner from the hall and comes to sit at the head of the table with a newspaper. He catches sight of Bucky and looks him up and down.

"Well, help your sister." He orders Bucky with a humored smile. Bucky returns it and leaves the window.

"Fine, fine. What is it? Arithmetic?" He asks sitting down at the table beside her and peaking at her homework. All she has accomplished is the messy scrawl of her name at the top. He points his finger to the first question and says, "Okay, Ruthie, for this one right here you need to-"

"I'm home! Sorry I'm late Mama, I didn't think it would take so long to-" Becca comes bounding through the door but stops herself short when she lays eyes on Bucky. The change in her demeanor is immediate. She has half her coat shucked off but stands stock still staring at him. Their mother doesn't notice, only keeps on making dinner and getting bowls down from the cupboard. Their father is swepted up in the news before him. Ruth doesn't look up either. There's a lengthy silence as they eye each other, then, "What are you doing here?" The tone is icy and spat at him with a frantic sort of confusion.

"What are you on about?" Bucky asks leaning back in his chair.

"You- you're not supposed to be here." She says but she looks unconvinced with her own statement. Bucky furrows his brows and looks at Ruth to see if she's hearing this nonsense too. Christ, is it his birthday or something and Becca meant to have a surprise party? Was he supposed to pick up something for them? Is Steve sick and he doesn't remember? There's no reason Bucky can think of for his presence not to be welcome here. This is his family. This is his _home._ Isn't it? Bucky looks around the apartment dumbly as if he's missing something.

"Becca, why wouldn't I be here?" He asks through a little laugh to lighten the mood. Her wide eyes and flushed cheeks are starting to make him nervous. After a suspended moment of stillness on both their parts, Becca finally moves. Letting her coat fall the rest of the way off her and stepping away from it, she steps cautiously towards the table.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" Bucky repeats. She comes to stand behind the chair next to their father and places her hands on the back of it. Bucky watches her knuckles turn white with the tightening of her grip. His heart pounds when he flicks his eyes back up to her face and sees her eyes well up. Something is very wrong. Something is- something's wrong. _Wrong. It's all wrong. Where is he?_

"Becca. Where am I?" Bucky asks and his voice breaks. Outside, the wind howls and the snow pings the weathered glass of the window. Her face screws up as she tries to hold back emotion. But the tears escape anyhow and she quickly wipes them away. Becca Barnes hates crying, Bucky knows that. He knows that better than anyone.

"Oh, Bucky." She shakes her head and closes her eyes tight. There's a long beat where Bucky doesn't breathe. He keeps his eyes locked on Becca's face waiting for her go on. When she opens her eyes back up the tears are gone and she lifts her chin defiantly.

"You need to leave." Becca says with enough force to make him flinch. He starts shaking his head in refusal. He looks over at his mother who is still bent over the pot and stirring in silence. _That isn't right_. Winnie Barnes never ignores her children. Never stays quiet and uninvolved. Neither does Ruth. The only person here who is doing what's expected is his reliably quiet father. Bucky looks back to Becca and runs a nervous hand through his hair, ripping it from it's careful style. He doesn't understand what's happening but he knows he can't leave. _He can't leave._

"Tell me why." Bucky says slowly. He searches his mind but he can't remember what he was doing before this moment, or where he was. How'd he get here? Did he work today? Is Steve waiting up for him? What day is it today? _What year is it?_ He looks at his hands and sees scars he got in the war. He sees traces of dirt and grease under his nails. Blood on his knuckles.

"You need to leave." She says it somehow harder this time and walks around Ruth, who is still hopelessly trying to unravel the mystery of the math in front of her, and grabs a fistful of Bucky's shirt and pulls him up. He goes easily not bothering to resist her. Now that he's standing she has to crane her neck to look up at him. She's so young here, Bucky thinks, she looks younger than he remembers her being the last time he saw her. When was the last time he saw her? When was the last time he saw any of his family?

"Becks, I'm begging you. What the fu-" On instinct, he flicks his eyes over to his mother to see if she's listening. But she's ignoring him just like Ruth and his father are doing. "-the hell is going on?" He watches Becca's eyes dance frenetically over his face as if she's taking in every detail. Is she trying to remember the last time she saw Bucky too? Her lip trembles but she bites it and looks over his shoulder to ground herself.

"You can't stay. I can't keep you. I'm n-not allowed. We can't have you yet." She says with as much measure in her voice as she can muster. Bucky can tell she's battling to hold herself together. But then, so is he. She begins trembling so Bucky reaches out and steadies her by her shoulders. She tries to lean away from his reach but he holds tighter.

"Yes you can. You've got me. You've always had me. Please tell me what this is. Help me out here." He bends at his knees to meet her at eye level. She still won't looked back at him but rather she looks down between their feet to avoid his gaze.

"I've been waiting for you, you know," She tells him. There's a pause as she takes a deep breath then lifts her head up to meet his eyes. They are that same icy grey he's always known. The same color as his own. "I've been waiting on you since they told us you had died. I waited because we never got your body back. We never buried you, Bucky. And I kept on waiting, thinking it couldn't be true. You were invincible, you were my big brother. Nobody coulda hurt you because you were too big for it all. And when he came back, when _Steve_ came back, I remembered that feeling of losing you again because he told me it was true. He told me what he saw. But I still couldn't let you go. It's like all that time, my whole life, I felt you in the world and no one could tell me you had left it. Because you didn't. And I knew it. But I had to die on you. Shit, Bucky, I'm so sorry I couldn't wait any longer." She sniffles and runs the back of her hand along his jaw. He can't contain the shiver that ripples through him. _She's so warm and alive against his skin._

But she isn't supposed to be, is she?

"Becca, please," Bucky begins crying, can hardly see her through the initial flow of stinging tears. He feels her wipe them away and remembers distantly that she's done this for him before. "Lemme stay now, you don't hafta wait any longer. _I'm here_." He leans into her and drapes himself around her in a hug that makes her stumble backwards. Nevertheless, she grabs back just as tight.

"No, Bucky, you're not. You aren't dead." She whispers against him.

"I wish I was." He chokes out and buries his face in the crook of her neck. She smells like home, like 1935, like lipstick and rollers, white church candles and unfiltered cigarettes. She smells like everything he never thought he forgot but did anyway.

"No you don't," She admonishes him and pulls back to look him in the eyes. "Come on, I can't keep you any longer. They're going to figure it out soon and you should be with the others when they do." He shakes his head, digs his fingers into her hard enough to bruise. But it's no use as she tears out of his grasp and walks to their door, still left ajar from when she came in earlier. She rests a hand on the knob and gently pushes it open more. He stares at her, silently begs her not to make him go.

_Go where?_

He looks back at his mother, the tanned color of her skin and the way her fingers wipe against her apron. She catches him looking and winks. It catches him off guard but true to the charm he once had, he winks back. She turns back to the pot and begins filling four bowls with soup.

He looks over at his father who flips the paper is his hands to read more. He coughs once then darts his eyes up to Bucky. He nods his head at Becca, a silent indicator that he wants Bucky to listen to her.

Ruth is staring back at Bucky with a smile that stops his heart. He looks back at Ruth, the middle girl, the forgotten child. The one who always got swept under the rug. He looks at her and can hear the melodies she used to sing under her breath in the summer when they ran wild in the streets. Sometimes they'd lay on the floor together flipping through catalogs and odd things they managed to find singing to each other the words they were reading. It was their game, a thing just for Ruth and Bucky. But in this room, here in this space in Brooklyn in a dream or someplace that Bucky can't understand, she looks at him like she just saw him this morning.

"Well get going," Ruth waves him on. "Someone's waiting on you."

"But I'll miss you." Bucky says automatically.

"What's new?" She responds with a giggle and a hand pulls Bucky through the door.

* * *

"Hey, Bucky, man. You good?" A voice warm and rich spills into Bucky's ears. Distantly, he recognizes the comforting timbre. He knows the man it comes from. _Sam, it's Sam_ , his brain supplies.

Bucky groans and lifts a hand to his forehead, massaging the lingering headache. He feels goddamn heavy and even more so when he opens his eyes and sees the oversaturated world around him. The russet atmosphere glows in an offbeat pulse that mixes with the holographic oil spill sky above him. _Above them_ , Bucky amends as he turns in a circle to process who makes up the sparsed crowd of people around him. They all look off kilter, shifting around and trying to get their bearings. Some are bunched up far away towards the endless horizon but others are standing close by. Everyone he can make out is from the battle in Wakanda. Did they all die? No, Becca said he wasn't dead. If he isn't dead then neither are they. So what is this?

"Hey, can you hear me?" Sam stands in front of him obstructing Bucky's assessing view. Bucky nods deftly.

"Yeah, yeah...I can hear you. Fuck, Sam, what the fuck is this?" Bucky asks him, voice teetering on desperate. Sam looks just as mystified as he scans the others. T'Challa is helping a Jabari tribe member to his feet to Bucky's left. Wanda is crouched with her head in her hands to his right. The tree thing is nervously wringing its branches and shifting around listlessly.

"He did it. Didn't he?" Sam mutters. He walks over to Wanda and squats next to her to lay a hand on her back. Bucky notices the oddity of the ground. It's solid but it's liquid all the same. A stretching puddle that has no depth. From Sam's spot on the rippling ground he looks up at Bucky and shakes his head in defeat. "He won."

"Is that what this is? Death?" Wanda asks with no inflection.

"No, we aren't dead. We're somewhere else. It's like- It's like we're being held here. Our souls. We're the half of the universe that he wiped out," Bucky explains. He looks down at his hands, one flesh and one vibranium. He just had a flesh one when he was with his sisters. When he was home. "Sam, did you go anywhere before coming here? See anything?"

"What? I was on the ground, eating dirt in Wakanda. Now I'm here," Sam shrugs, face wrought with confusion. "Why? Did you?" Sam stands abruptly. T'Challa comes over to listen with a few other Wakandans Bucky recognizes. Wanda looks up, eyes still looking hazy but alert at Bucky's inquiry. After a moment's hesitation, Bucky nods.

"I saw my family. My parents. I was in Brooklyn." Bucky tells them. He can still see the blue glow coming in through the window from the snow. See the old orange hue of the kitchen light falling over the shoulders of his family.

"You had a dream?" T'Challa asks.

"No. It was real. I was there. My sister...she told me I wasn't dead. I thought I was. But she said I wasn't. And Georgie wasn't there because Georgie is still alive." Bucky swallows thickly around the memory. It couldn't have been a dream, could it? He felt Becca. He felt her heartbeat when they hugged. He smelled his mother's cooking. He touched Ruth's homework. He heard his father's voice.

"Okay, anyone else experience something like that before waking up here?" Sam asks looking around at everyone near. No one adds anything and Bucky steps back to think. It was so real. It had to be real. It wasn't a dream. _It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream._

"I believe you, Sergeant Barnes, I believe you," T'Challa secures a gentle grip on Bucky's left elbow. _Shit, he said that aloud_. "Alright. We know there are more people here. Fezile has a theory about our placement. There may be others who went somewhere else, like you, Barnes. Passed through some sort of...afterlife before coming here. Fezile, what was it you were saying?" T'Challa directs his attention to the Jabari man Bucky saw him help up a second earlier. He's a large, imposing man, much like how most of the Jabari are but Bucky has known him as a chatty and intelligent guy. When the Jabari began to open up slightly to the rest of Wakanda Fezile showed an interest in technology and every couple months Bucky would see him in the lab with Shuri. He was something of a technological advancement ambassador for the Jabari.

"When I gained consciousness I noticed that I awoke here just as I had left the other plane. And others around me, the Jabari, the Dora, and some of your own," Fezile nods at Sam and Bucky. "They came to as the same. Our positions didn't change. Our distance from one another didn't change. We woke here with the people we vanished with. If we travel through _this_ plane, we may be able to find others but I do not know how long it will take. There is no way of knowing how large this plane is. If it ends at all or follows the structure of Earth."

"Or the universe," Wanda adds. "He spared no one."

"So if I vanished in front of someone and I don't see that someone here then chances are they're still fine on Earth?" Bucky asks. He sees a flash of Steve watching shocked and helplessly as Bucky turned to ash before him.

"Unless since then they were killed. What happened to us is like death. It mirrors death. But it is not death." Fezile responds. More people gather, including the tree. The raccoon with the fucking gun is not here, though, Bucky notes.

"What does that mean?" Sam asks.

"It means it can be undone." T'Challa states with certainty. Shoulders sag and a chorus of breaths are let out. Bucky himself closes his eyes in a fleeting feeling of hope. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Steve behind again.

"So what now?" Bucky asks. "Do we wait? Look for more people and hope they have answers? I mean, how long have we been here?"

"Exactly. How do we know time here works like our time? Or if there's time here at all?" Sam adds.

"We don't. Because there isn't." Wanda intones. She is still crouched so the lot of them look down at her.

"How d'you know, Wands?" Buck kneels in front of her to ask. She looks at him, furrows her brows.

"I feel it." She answers quietly. Bucky eyes the broken lines of her face, the way she remains dejectedly on the ground. He didn't see it, but Bucky's willing to bet Vision's dead. Real dead, not stumbling around in this place dead.

"That's just vague enough for me to believe." Sam sighs. "So no time, presumably no contact with Earth, and no clue how to get out of here. I say we do what Fezile said and find others. I mean we might find someone who knows something. Other Avengers. We can't be the only ones. If Stark was alive before it happened then maybe he vanished too. Maybe more of those Guardians that showed up with Thor are here. Steve said on comms that Thor told him there were more in Space. Bucky, did you see Steve? Do you know if-"

"He's not here. Thor isn't either. I didn't see Banner. Or Nat," Bucky interrupts Sam's line of questioning. "Did you see Rhodes?" Sam looks away and shakes his head.

"Fine. So we look for others." T'Challa says. Bucky stands and helps Wanda up. They all look worse for wear, still marred in sweat and dirt from the fight. More Dora, Border tribesmen, and Jabari congregate around them. Bucky feels a twinge of nostalgia, or maybe just a hit of startling familiarity from them looking to T'Challa for leadership. It's reminiscent of the days his men fell in line to listen to Steve's orders. But the Wakandans are not the Commandos and Bucky isn't smoking his rations waiting for Steve to shut the fuck up so they can get moving. This is bigger than any fight Bucky's ever been swepted up in. And it's a fight they've already greatly lost.

"Let's figure this shit out, team." Bucky says dusting off his best Sergeant Barnes voice. Then they move out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Girl Blue - Janis Joplin
> 
> sorry for any mistakes - it's just little old me doing the editing so u kno how it be but Oh My God only one more chapter and we're done!!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHH thank you to anyone who's been reading all along and has gotten this far with me:) i love you all and have loved sharing this with everyone!!!
> 
> for the next chapter i am going to, true to my nature, avoid going in depth about the action. it will pick up after they've defeated thanos


	45. Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm growing tired and time stands still before me  
> Frozen here on the ladder of my life  
> It's much too late to save myself from falling  
> I took a chance and changed your way of life

April 2019

There is a searing ring resonating through Steve's ears as he rolls onto his side. He groans with the shock of pain that pulses through his body from a broken rib or two. One hand clutches his middle as he struggles to his knees. The ringing is persistently deafening, almost worse than the pain in his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes tight and wills it away. His job isn't done. He isn't done. _He has to stand back up._ He can't tell how long he's down before he feels someone approach him through the vibrations in the ground. The footfall is light and familiar so he doesn't bother looking up. His hands go to his temples and he rests his forehead against the rubble he is sat in. It's so loud he can't fucking think.

"-eve! Steve!" The faltering voice shouts with a forceful hand on his shoulder. "Anybody got a free hand? Cap is down. _Fuck,_ Steve can you hear me?" Steve can do nothing but attempt to steady his labored breathing in response. _There's so much pain._ The hand tries to angle him upwards so that they can see him properly but his body refuses to comply and instead falls back into the dirt.

"Romanoff, you with him now?" Another voice asks. Steve groans again when the hands on him flip his body over so he's facing the sky. The sensations of pain are rippling through his body in uncontrollable spasms that are starting to bring on delirium. It's making him see people flying across smoldering sienna skies, _flying_. In Germany. He's seen some shit out here in the war but this...

"You are not in Germany, Steven. You're on Titan. You're with the Avengers," _Romanoff_ snaps at him. Has he been speaking aloud? Then, to the other voice she explains, "It's bad, fuck, it's fucking bad, Stark. I need goddamn help. He's incoherent. He can't move. I- I don't think he knows where he is." _That's not true_ , Steve thinks. She just told him he's on Titan. He knows that. _Fuck, where's Titan?_

"Okay, well I'm- shit, I'm a little busy right now. Natasha, you need to hold your own until, uh, until- ooomf-" The other voice cuts off and out of Steve's ear. In the static that follows, he thinks he shivers because new waves of pain hit him all over. _Titan_...it's another planet. He's on another planet. He's bleeding out in front of Natasha. He _knows_ Natasha. Natasha who likes ice tea in the winter and chews loudly on the ice cubes to make Steve squirm. Yes, she is his best friend.

"Stark? I can't see you anymore! Stark? Rhodey, do you copy? Danvers? Can someone give me a response?" Her voice rises and Steve thinks he might hear panic on the edge of her tone. That makes him edge to his own panic because Nat's never been one to show fear. He forces his eyes back open, which must have drifted shut at some point, and trains them on her face. Her dripping sweat is mingling with the blood that flows steadily out of wound above her left eyebrow and he winces to see the gash. Her eyes are flitting rapidly all over him and so are her hands. She focuses her sights somewhere on his stomach and with the surge of pain that comes from her touching the wound he groans.

"Nat-" He gasps out and she hovers closer, raking her glinting eyes all over his face. The last thing he sees before the world fades to black is the movement of her lips mouthing over and over, _stay_.

* * *

1930

Steve trudges home in his too-big shoes, tripping every few steps because of the awkward fit. A month ago, right before his eleventh birthday, he got another minor growth spurt and grew out of all his shoes. Bucky gave him an old pair of his but they were still a couple sizes bigger than Steve could fill. To compensate, Steve stuffed old newspaper in the toes. Bucky had laughed but told him he looked sharp nonetheless.

Steve sniffs and rubs the back of his hand against his nose, pulling it away to see the crusted red flakes of blood. His nose has stopped bleeding from his earlier altercation involving a dog, some rocks, and a one hundred-and-eighty pound asshole. Though he wipes at the dried blood until he thinks it might all be gone, he can feel the rippling bruise forming on his jaw. Thank fuck Bucky's home watching his sisters tonight or Steve'd be getting an earful right now. That doesn't change the fact that his mother won't approve when she gets home late tonight and sees half his face swollen to Sunday. Maybe he can get away with going to bed early and avoiding her until tomorrow? Steve climbs the creaking stairs with a resigned sigh and searches his pocket for his key. When he finally fumbles it out the door opens before him and his mother stands on the other side.

"I thought you'd be home soon. Come in, honey," Sarah lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. He winces minutely and she takes the hand away. Steve can tell the moment she notices the scrapes on his face and the drag of his posture, which is shit most of the time anyway but even more so from today. Her smile falls as her shoulders sag in disappointment. Steve mimics the action without thinking. "What've you been into this time?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Steve angles his body to maneuver around her and get into the apartment. He really doesn't want to get into the lows of the day. He's already feeling like shit for spending half his day alone, walking home alone in the uncomfortable humid rain, getting his ass kicked alone. And his feet are aching from the effort it took to keep the shoes angled just right as he walked so they didn't slip off every damn five minutes. And now he has to face his mother and her worried expression four hours earlier than expected. He wishes he could reach out and smooth out the creases on her face with the tips of his fingers and then go to bed and maybe never wake up.

"I don't think it's nothing. This doesn't look like nothing. You've been looking more and more ragged lately. Getting into things you shouldn't," Sarah extends a hand to brush her fingertips along his bruised jaw and he jerks his head away She looks at him with drawn eyebrows and hands on her hips. "What's wrong today? Hmm?"

"Why're you home early?" Steve ignores her question while peeling off his damp jacket and tossing it on his bed. He'd follow suit but he knows not to hole himself up in his room when his ma is talking to him. Instead he turns and sways in his doorway, watching her watching him.

"Steven, what is _wrong_ today? It was a slow day at the ward so I thought I'd come home early and spend time with you. We haven't just done that in a while." Sarah's arms drop from her hips to hang limply at her sides. The tips of her fingers fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. Steve watches the movement as she keeps talking about how little they get to be around each other because of her hours. When she finishes there's a pause as she waits expectantly for him to respond. Steve takes a deep breath only half remembering everything she's said.

"Okay." Steve replies crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He's pushing his luck with this attitude but he's had enough talking today. Sarah shakes her head and kneels down in front of him, gripping him fiercely by the elbows.

"Tell me, sunshine. What's got you sore today? I hate seeing my favorite boy like this." Steve shrugs and avoids her eyes. "I'm not leaving you alone until I get an answer. I'll follow you everywhere. I'll watch you sleep the whole night through. I'll walk behind you to school. Stepping on the back of your shoes. I'll sit on your desk at school so you can't do your lessons. I'll eat all your lunch. I'll follow you back home. I'll perch on your shoulders at supper like a bird. I'll stand-"

"Alright, Ma." Steve rolls his eyes, trying to squash down the smile before she catches it. _Too late_. She beams at the rise she gets out of him.

"So what's the matter?" She asks softly, coming down from her humor. Steve lets his shoulders relax. He woke up today feeling out of breath already, there wasn't a chance he was gonna have a good day. Then everything else, all those damn little things, had to happen.

"You know when you tell me all about Ireland and how the air smells? Not in town or anything. But where you lived. The air...you said it was as clear as good glass is. You said it felt like elevation-"

"Elation. It felt like elation running into your lungs." Sarah corrects him. The words tumble out of her mouth easily because of the frequency she says them. She doesn't as much lately but Steve listens to her talk about Ireland all the time. Those short, half explained stories feel like his best memories, even if they aren't his. A few days ago she told him about the sweetness of the air there for the hundredth time. But instead of hanging on her words, like any other time before, this time Steve was bothered. He felt an itch to speak out, to interrupt the story, to destroy the crystal narrative she was weaving with her tongue. Clean good air? And he had to be here where his mother turned her nose up at the city smog?

"What does that mean?" Steve asks frustrated.

"It means the air was good. It felt good." She answers. Her eyebrows are turning in and up, like it's breaking her heart to listen to him. He only gets more agitated.

"I just don't get it," Steve snaps. "Ireland sounds so much better. Why d'we have to be here? I get hurt here. I'm sick here. I can't _breathe_ here!"

"Hon-"

"No, I don't understand. I don't get why we have to be here. Why can't you go back? Why can't you take me back? I don't want this! You never ever asked me what I wanted. You never ask me what I want!" Steve wiggles out of her grasp and takes a single step away from her. Her arms thud to her sides, knuckles landing on the hard floor. He's being petulant and terrible but his hammering heart sends encouraging blood rushing warmly through his little body. It feels good to be angry.

"You were too little, honey," She laughs. _Laughs_. Steve feels a betraying lump form in his throat. Steve watches her face fall from his lack of understanding and pinch into something else as she continues. "I'm sorry, please don't be cross with me. There was nothing to be done. We can't go back. There's...Steven, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, left for us in Ireland. You are home, whether you like it or not. Brooklyn is your home."

"So this is what you wanted?" Steve lifts his arms to gesture to the room around him, to Brooklyn in all her stifling glory. His ma glances around the room and out the window over his shoulder and nods slowly. Then, still on her knees, she inches forward to close the distance he put between them. Her hands come to rest on his arms again. She watches him for a beat, a breath, before opening her mouth to speak in a shaking voice.

"I just wanted you..." She trails off, tightening her grip on his thin frame. He stares back, his heart still skipping beats waiting for her finish. "I just wanted you to be _free_."

* * *

Steve snaps his eyes open with a gasp and blindly reaches out in front of him. His fingers latch on to someone else's hands and he takes in quickly the sight of Natasha breathless and bloodied. Her head wound is still bleeding profusely so he wipes some of the trickling red away with his right hand. He notices the three out of five fingers that are broken and already stiffened crookedly back together underneath his skin. That means he has to break them again later to get them straightened out.

"There you are," Natasha breathes out in unchecked relief. She doesn't look any better than Steve possibly does but then again, she hasn't seemed to pass out yet. "I stopped the bleeding but you've broken a hell of a lot. Can you hear me all right, Rogers?"

"I- uh, yeah. I can hear you." Steve nods and looks around at the complete demolition of the planet around him. Even one of the ships, left alone far off from the site of the battle, has taken a beating. There are heroes bent over, laying down, shuffling their feet over to others and Steve is reminded of every moment after a harrowing night on the frontlines. There was always that quiet scene of despondent calculation that took place after the last of the shelling. Just as he couldn't then, he can't tell who's dead and who's not now.

"Good. And you know where you are?" She prods. He nods again but doesn't meet her eye. He catches sight of it, then. The large, lifeless lump of it. He sees the head lying ten feet away from the body. Sees the spray of purple blood from the exposed neck. Nebula is crouched by the corpse breathing hard and looking off at nothing. "I need you to say it, Steve."

"Titan. It's 2018 again. I'm fine, Nat." Steve answers absently still caught on the violent scene.

"Good, good. Okay." Natasha leans back, her hands slipping out of Steve's grasp. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. It was in a braid before the fighting began but it's mostly out now.

"Natasha," Steve tries to rally his strength and stand. Natasha is up in an instant, helping him. She knows he won't be able to stay down so she doesn't bother coaxing him back to the ground. "Is anyone, I mean did anyone-"

"Tony's pretty banged up. But I'm sorry to say he'll live." She answers with a quirk of her lips. He glances down at her and returns her ghost of a smile.

"That's extremely unfortunate." Steve grunts out. He takes a few steps forward, still holding tightly to his sore ribs and bracing onto Nat with his other side. He can tell she's trying to hide a wince herself.

"We caught Thanos by surprise. And his bitch ass children. We did it, Steve. Xandar is safe. The Asgardians are safe. Earth is safe." Natasha helps him over a raised piece of earth and then they are standing in front of Nebula. She ignores them. Or maybe it's that she hasn't noticed them.

"So when we go home. It will never have happened. And we're the only ones who remember." Steve concludes. He knew that was to be the outcome but he was never sure if he was going to live or not. Natasha looks long at him then nods. Nebula raises her head to them then and looks into their eyes once, silently, before she finally stands, tucks her sword into her belt, and walks over to the head where she turns it over until she can see the face. Steve has to look away before he sees what happens next.

The plan was this: They chased down the stones and liberated them from Thanos. Then they used the time stone to reverse, not go back in, but reverse time to before the day Xandar was destroyed by Thanos. This also set back the destruction of Asgard, though Thor was adamant that there was nothing he could do to stop Ragnarok from happening. Then at that point they rallied anyone they could, like Carol (who did her own time travelling to meet up with them), Valkyrie (who took a lot of convincing to get off Sakaar), Korg (who took no convincing but a little bit of sneaking to get him off Sakaar), and even Loki (who took no convincing once Thanos was mentioned). They debated going back to Earth to get T'Challa, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, or anyone else they could possibly grab but the worry for if there was time stopped them. Moreover, Steve didn't want to lose them all again. This was his fight, not theirs. Additionally, they hadn't done the reversal on Earth and there wasn't enough time to go back and explain what happened and convince them to come to Space to kill a mad titan even if they wanted to. No one but the architects of the reversal remember the year that passed.

When it came to it, both Thor and Carol offered to wield the stone but in the end it was the original six Avengers who agreed to do it together. Nebula too; she refused to let the horrors done to her be forgotten, that included the past year. She would not forget what Thanos had done to Gamora or the torment she went through in the months following. Thor wielded the stone in his left hand, fitted in a gauntlet made for him as the Avengers grasp one another's hand. None of them could bear to forget the year gone by, not when they felt so strongly that it dragged on in dissonance because of them. And it would be easier to assemble together if more of them remembered what happened. Steve held Thor's right hand, and Nat held Steve's. Clint held Natasha's other hand and Bruce held Clint's. Then it was Tony and Nebula who completed the loop. Nebula rested her hand on Thor's shoulder then they left the desolate present for a chance to save the world.

Steve and Natasha stand in front of the body for no more than a minute before Steve has had enough. Without a word, they make back for the ships. When Steve regains a bit of balance and strength he trails behind Natasha ripping off the one glove he has left with his teeth and spitting it out on the ground. Natasha helps him inside when he begins slowing down too much, then they slide down to the floor. He thought they were pretty on par with each other in terms of injuries but then he belatedly realizes after accepting and needed her help to function he's just much more fucked up than he knows. Clint is already inside with Rhodey. Clint with a broken leg and Rhodey expertly setting it for him. Clint's right eye is completely bruised and swollen shut while Rhodey tends to some burns on his right shoulder. When the rest of the team settles inside the quietness that plagued them for the past year evaporates, at least, predictably, on Tony's end. Tony's breathing is strained and wheezy and difficult to listen to but his eyes are bright and flitting around at everyone. He asks what they want for lunch one by one even though no one is sure what time it is. Rocket and Nebula stay behind, having no business going back to Earth. Steve feels a pang of remorse at not being able to properly say goodbye. Carol is not accompanying them either. Valkyrie, Thor, Korg, Loki and Bruce are heading back to where they belong at this point in time, not wanting to risk changing the timeline. There was debate where Bruce would head to, whether it was worth him going back to Sakaar, but he said he needed to pick up where he left off and he'd see them soon.

As the hatch closes and the ship hums to life, Clint sings something so off key Steve can't even begin to figure out what it is. Tony soon joins in with gravelly backup vocals. Rhodey is quick to put them in check and tell them to quit celebrating before they know for sure this all worked. Clint still hums the unrecognizable tune. Tony taps his fingers to it.

"D'you ever think maybe, I don't know, you should marry him?" Natasha asks as she wipes more blood off her forehead before tiredly leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Steve stops short and looks at her hard even though she isn't looking back. Natasha has never been a personal person, no matter what. It takes him a minute of deliberation but he finally responds honestly.

"Yeah I do, but it's not going to change anything. We are going to be together no matter what. Let me look at your head, you need stitches." Steve crouches in front of her and gently tilts her head. He does it with the hand that doesn't have the broken fingers. She's lost a lot of blood, _fucking head wounds_. Her eyes drift back open and she watches him stand up. After searching for and retrieving what he hopes to be a first aid kit he sits back down in front of her and begins prepping to take care of the deep gash. She runs her hand through his hair dislodging rocks and dirt and other unidentified stowaway bits. Part of it is matted down with dried blood. He can tell from her insistent tugs that she's trying to break it up.

"I know but you're childhood sweethearts. Just something to consider. Sam would agree with me." She offers around a mischievous smile as he stitches her up. She looks close to passing out in that subtle way only Natasha Romanoff can manage to reveal. To anyone else she might just look a little tired. Even at the end of world, she's still the best of any of them at hiding.

"Don't pull the Sam card. That's low." He replies, pausing his one handed work. He'll set the bones on his other one after he takes care of Nat.

"Think about it, Steve. You. Him. The same last name. A hyphenated last name? I mean you'd have it all. Goats and Mr. Barnes-Rogers. I'm getting goosebumps for you." She wrinkles her nose and closes her eyes again. She almost giggles, he can tell. And that's when he knows how bad she's really feeling. She's lost too much blood.

"You're tired, Nat. Stop thinking about marriage. Are you bleeding anywhere else?" Steve mutters throwing the cotton pad soaked in blood next to the others. She hums in response. There was a brief moment a year ago when Bucky brought up making it official himself. He mentioned that Shuri asked him what Natasha is asking Steve now. Bucky replied the same way; it won't change anything. So they never got married and never talked about it since. Steve agrees, for the most part, because it's true that getting married won't change things but that doesn't mean it isn't a little romantic. Steve can get on along just fine without documentation authenticating their relationship but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to give Bucky everything he's got. Steve checks the rest of Natasha over, looking for any other source of blood. There are minor burns around her left hip and across her stomach and she has a few cuts on the backs of her legs, one deep enough to need real dressing. She lets him guide her down to her stomach so he can clean her up and wrap the wounds. It's quiet as he does it so he thinks the conversation is over but when he finishes up and Nat rolls herself over ignoring Steve's protests she asks again.

"Stop asking me that. You ever bother Bucky about this?" Steve leans back on his ankles exasperated with her insistence.

"Every chance I get." She winks. Or tries to, she's so beat both her eyes blink closed, quick and awkward.

"Rogers, if you don't lock down Barnes' ass I'll do it personally." Clint halts his godawful humming to add. Steve shifts to look over his shoulder at Clint who is turned completely around watching them. Distractedly, Steve realigns one of his broken fingers.

"Respectfully, turn off your hearings aids, Clint." Steve wraps the finger and moves on to the next one. He makes quick work of it because Nat is still dazing in and out in front of him and he wants to get more blood in her.

"Respectfully, kiss my ass." Clint retorts in the same tone. A second later Clint notices Nat and tries to rise out of his chair. Steve stops him, patting lightly on his unbroken leg and shaking his head. Tony turns his attention at that and Steve has a feeling he's in for a long trip home by the look on his face. But what Tony says next isn't altogether annoying.

"You're right, kid, it might not change anything to tie the knot. But it might mean something. Isn't that good enough?" Tony asks in earnest. Tony is laid up on one of the unfoldable cots of the ship. His armor is gone, retracted into his chest piece and it looks like his arm is severely torn up. His left eye is bruised and his lip is split. There seems to be flowering bruises anywhere his skin is showing. Steve goes to kneel back down in front of Nat and gently pull her away from the wall where another unfoldable cot awaits behind her. When she's out of the way he sets it up then drapes her on top of it. Her silence makes him bite his lip. He knows she needs blood now and begins preparing a transfusion, talking while he inserts the needle under his skin like he does this every day. He also needs to keep her awake because she most likely has a concussion.

"The house...I won't have built it yet when everything goes back. He'll never get to see it." Steve looks down at the tube filling with red and emptying into the clear pouch.

"So just rebuild it with him." Natasha groans below him.

"Maybe it's time to leave. Maybe it's time to find somewhere less, um, burdensome." Steve says. T'Challa, or any people of Wakanda, have never made him or Bucky feel less than welcome. But it was still nagging Steve that maybe that couldn't last forever. Taking their hospitality could only go for so long.

"You sure about that, Steve? I thought Barnes was pretty partial to Wakanda. You thinking about moving?" Natasha tries to sit up but he gently pushes her back by the shoulders so she can rest against the stiff cot. Her grimace, and the too fair pallor of her skin, become more apparent with each passing second. He finishes filling the bag and gets to work setting her up.

"I don't know. I'll go wherever he wants. Stay wherever he decides." Steve concedes. There's no use talking about this without Bucky or his uncensored input.

"Why don't you talk it over instead. You're allowed to have an opinion." Clint answers when Nat stays quiet. Steve slides a new needle under her skin.

"I think I'm tired too," Steve shakes his head. "I don't know if I could move us. There's nowhere for us to go. Nothing will have changed when we get back. We'll be fugitives again, you know."

"Rogers, you say the word and I'll personally carve out a corner of the world for you two. You could come live by me." Natasha grabs his hand in a genuine gesture. Steve shakes his head getting ready to decline her offer.

"In the middle of fucking nowhere? No thanks. I need something other than goats and assassins to keep me company." He smirks.

"Suit yourself. But the offer is open. Always." Natasha closes her eyes again and blows out a tired breath through her nose.

"You could live with me in New York." Tony offers. Steve turns his head and makes sure Tony can see when he rolls his eyes.

"I could let you rent out a place in Bed-Stuy. I'll give you a Newlyweds discount." Clint clicks his tongue then winces. He gently touches the bruised half of his face in pain, feeling the obvious swelling out while setting his face back into its safe frown.

"I know a good retirement community in Virginia. You'd fit in." Rhodey adds shifting around to join in. He's the only one currently manning the ship even though their course home is mapped and set.

"I'll handle my own house hunting, thank you." Steve grumbles. After that Steve doesn't hear another word from Natasha until they reach Earth but he manages to keep her awake and alert even through her quiet. He takes his turns assessing the state of his teammates like the mother hen that he is. He's never been this hands on or obsessive with them but seeing the way they can hardly move while his bruises and cuts and broken bones heal before his eyes compels him to help them. Yeah, his body is just as fucked as the rest of them but he's got that supersoldier edge that gives him an excuse to be their diligent Captain one more time. He gives Tony stitches all over. Wraps Clint's ribs. Dresses a bad cut on Rhodey's upper arm, treats his burns, and then sets his broken ankle. Steve asked him how he hadn't noticed it was broken and Rhodey just shrugged, saying, "Everything hurts, man."

Steve takes control of the ship letting the others slip into fitful rests as he traverses the galaxy. Natasha sits beside him with her seat turned towards Steve so that she can put her feet up on his lap. An hour in, he calls Sam who he knows woke up alone on a mission in Argentina when Nat was meant to be by his side in the original timeline. Sam answers quickly, just barely past the first ring.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Sam yells into the phone as a greeting. "Nat's nowhere to be found and Bucky's been calling me all morning. He says you disappeared, Steve. You didn't even tell him you were leaving. You didn't tell anybody. It's been almost a full twenty-four hours-"

"Sammy-" Steve chokes out around the lump in his throat. He hasn't heard this voice in a goddamn year. The voice that sounds like the color of yellow autumn leaves and rich warm hazelnut coffee and low buzzing streetlights in the middle of the night on a mission in Italy. Steve has to blink hard to unblur his sightline. Natasha is in nearly the same state leaning towards the control panel where his voice is coming out from. Sam doesn't hear his pathetic cry and keeps barreling on.

"You better tell me if Nat is with you and if you're bringing your ass back here. I can't believe you two." Steve can practically see him shaking his head in frustration and pacing back and forth.

"Sammy," Steve tries again, clearer this time. "Everything is okay." And even Steve believes it.

"I'm right here, Wilson. I knew you'd miss me. I knew it." Nat's gravelly voice laughs out.

"I had to fly my ass over to Wakanda. Oh wait, no I'm sorry. I had to call Wakanda and ask him to pick me up like I was asking my mother to pick me up from school." Sam somehow gets louder echoing around the ship. Clint groans in the background.

"You called all of Wakanda?" Steve asks and can't stop himself from laughing at his own question.

"Man, you don't get to make jokes right now. Especially shitty ones. I'm sitting in your goddamn hut that smells like the smelliest goats in the world looking out this pathetic little window at _your_ man as he sits down in the dirt with his goats huddled around him. Stop laughing, asshole. You have no idea what you did. I get that Nat left and didn't say shit. That's just Nat. But I thought she was done doing that. I thought you were done doing that, Natasha. I thought Steve didn't do that. But here we are. You better-"

"You're with Buck?" Steve asks breathlessly. "Jesus, Sam can you- can you please..."

"He doesn't want to talk to you," Sam has the decency to let his anger ease into a bit a sympathy. Steve feels the air get knocked out of his lungs. "He left his beads inside in case you returned his calls. And he told me that if you called me that he didn't want to know or hear about it. I'll say it again, Steve. You have no idea what you did."

"Well, I've got a goddamn good excuse. But he's okay? He's there? Alive?" There's a silence on the line where all Steve can register is his own heart pounding in his ears. Though he's devastated he can't hear Bucky's voice right now, angry Bucky sounds like the most beautiful thing in the world. He pictures his tanned cheeks dusted in a rosy blush of fury. His eyes flashing a cold, piercing grey. He'll give Steve the same enraged look he's been seeing since he was brought into this world. That goddamn look is _miraculous_.

"Rogers," Sam finally responds. His voice is low, slowly articulating and concerned. "What the hell happened that you gotta ask me that?"

* * *

It takes nothing but a racing heart and a thin layer of sweat on the back of his neck to get him there. He doesn't feel the ache of his bones or the sharp intakes of hot air he's gulping down. The dusk is approaching, lining the sky in lilac - _Bucky's favorite_ \- and letting the highest bits of atmosphere be stippled in constellations. The path he walks is the worn one he's always taken, the worn one Bucky always takes to visit the lab. Its familiarity is suffocating but not because he knows it too well or because he knows Bucky walks it too. It overwhelms his senses because he knows at the end, after he's past by Akhona's land and past the separate path cutting to the lake he will find himself at the feet of the hut. Steve rushes through the overgrowing foliage trying to beat nightfall.

Bucky is waiting for him, he knows it. Waiting with long dark hair that waves at the ends and brushes the jut of his collarbone. Waiting with eyes harsh as winter ice but warm as December twenty-fourth spent whispering together under the sheets in 1935. His skin will be warm to the touch, maybe even hot. Maybe it will be sticky from the humidity and the drenching heat and his vibrant anger. Maybe his lips will cut him down with words of berating truth, livid outcries of confusion and betrayal. Steve would give anything to hear the exact pitch Bucky's voice gets up to when he's shouting Steve's ears off. He'd give anything for Bucky to grab the back of his neck and pull him in close so Steve can hear him loud and clear when he tells him just how furious he is.

When they landed and every one was safely loaded off and taken care of Steve left his team and Sam who had come up to greet them for the quickest route home. He was mad, of fucking course, but when Sam saw their state his eyes softened into worry and even more so when Steve grabbed him tight and tucked himself into Sam's tentative hold. It took a second but then Sam gripped back and Steve choked out his relief, letting Sam murmur in his ear. _Hey, it's all good, man. Whatever it is. We're safe. You're safe. Right?_

The hut comes in to view over the crest of the hill and Steve nearly falls to his knees. He remembers with clarity tearing it down piece by piece. Carefully going about ripping apart the only semblance of home Bucky had made for himself in this lifetime. How could Steve be so selfish? This was never his to touch. To take away. No matter how many times Bucky told him it was _theirs_. It was never Steve's to demolish and decimate.

Approaching the structure on quick feet, he comes upon the buds of flowers poking through the earth. Their soft promise that Bucky was right in his letters, _there is life here_. He kneels down to run a knuckle against the delicate newcomer. Soon the buds will go to sleep, closing up and waiting for the sun to rise again and wake them up.

"Buck?" Steve shouts looking frantically around their land. There is no sign of Bucky outside or around the hut but he walks around it to be sure. The goats, every one of the Steves, are milling about the pen out back. Steve leans over the wooden fence to massage an ear of the grey Steve, the roughness of the board cutting into his abdomen. He had abandoned the unsalvageable top of the suit on the floor of the ship coming here in just the thin undershirt and dirtied pants. The goat bleats up at Steve and pulls away joining his friends far enough out of reach of Steve's trembling hands. Steve can hear the chicken clucking somewhere in the distance and reassures himself that everyone here is accounted for. There would be no doubt about that, since everyone else in the world had come back. But still. Steve needed to see it with his eyes before believing they won.

Steve ducks his head to go inside the hut knowing that if Bucky's in here he'd have heard Steve walking around their meager grounds and come stomping out. But there's always the chance that he's hurting on the other end of the emotional spectrum, which Steve can't bear to think about. Yet just as suspected, the hut is empty. Steve sighs in the nothingness and makes his way to where he knows Bucky will be.

Steve makes towards the lake, practically running, brushing branches and leaves out of his way and hardly hearing the melodic sounds of the nighttime beings come alive over his pounding heartbeat. When he comes to the clearing he doesn't see anyone around the lake. Not a soul. Not even a clue that anyone was here at all. He races to the edge of the water, hoping that he's missing something when the dark haired head pops up from below the surface. Steve hears himself cry out at the sight of him, his eyes involuntarily stinging with awed tears.

"Bucky!" Bucky flips his hair out of his face and with his hand wipes droplets from his eyes. He's treading water in the deeper part of the lake - an area Steve has never made it to. Still, Steve doesn't waste another second before walking straight into the water, quelling his brain's panicky protests. He still has not swam in this lake since that day Bucky tried and failed to coax him in. The desperate crashing sound of the water against Steve's awkward gait and Steve's labored breaths gets Bucky to turn his head with wild eyes in Steve's direction.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Bucky calls beginning to swim towards him. "Steve!"

"Buck! Bucky!" Steve calls back reaching hands out to him like a needy toddler as he walks deeper. The sand moves underneath him, sinking under his weight with his forceful steps. The water is up to his chest when Bucky gets in front of him, placing a steadying arm around Steve's waist. It lights a fire on Steve's skin where Bucky touches him and he can barely find the air to breath.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bucky reels on him. Steve throws his arms around his shoulders and at last looks unflinchingly into his grey eyes. _His fucking incredible eyes_. The instant relief that falls over him is blinding, bright white light burning behind his eyes and over his goosebumped skin. He's missed him more than anything. And he can't catch a breath enough to say it. He can't catch his breath at all.

"Stevie, what's happened? Breathe for me. Just breathe." Bucky's sourness softens into genuine worry. He leans forward to nose at Steve's cheek and when he comes away it gleams in the nighttime glow of the stars. Steve's been crying. Steve is crying and Bucky _wiped away his tears with his nose._

"I'm so sorry. _I'm so sorry_." Steve shakes his head and feels the tears come a little harder. If at all possible he thinks he could be having a goddamn asthma attack and Bucky reacts accordingly tilting Steve's chin up so he can take in more air. When Steve can finally steady himself enough to get out some words he stutters, "I- I love-" then lays sloppy kisses on Bucky's cheeks until their lips slide messily together. Bucky is compliant, his mood shifting entirely with Steve's unexplained demeanor. Encouraged, Steve sighs into his mouth and wraps his legs around Bucky's hips under the water.

When Steve is on the verge of suffocation again, this time for a much better reason, he pulls back slowly, shuddering. Bucky lets him bury his face into his neck and weep, his arm tightening around Steve's middle so their bodies rest flush against each other. Bucky smells like lake water and sweat and that eternal Bucky Barnes scent he couldn't scrub off if he tried. Steve brushes his lips over the wet skin and breathes in deep. When he pulls back Bucky is watching him with worried eyes, damp and nervous. Steve begs him, before Bucky can open his mouth, "Say my name again. Speak again. Fucking please, honey."

"Jesus, Stevie, how long has it been?" Bucky asks out of breath himself. Steve feels the shiver run over Bucky, sees the way his eyes rake over Steve's features which have undoubtedly changed over that past year. His beard is gone, hair shorter, and his body even feels a little thinner. Everything about him feels different and he knows Bucky can tell.

"Too long. We're done. We're done. No more," Steve rambles while wiping his face and nose with the back of one hand. There are faint bruises still visible looking greenish yellow on his wet skin. "Don't let go of me." Bucky nods deftly not seeming like he's really seeing Steve anymore.

"Okay, sweetheart, okay. No more," Bucky whispers. "Let's get you out of this water. C'mon." Bucky leads them out and sets Steve down on the still warm ground. Steve shivers from the exposure to the air and Bucky's closeness. He sits next to Steve, facing him and holding him with an arm over his shoulders. He noses the dirty hair on Steve's head and sighs. Steve doesn't take his hands or eyes off of Bucky's body for anything. "You don't have to tell me what happened. You wouldn't make me tell you. We can go to bed. Wake up together again. Like always. Like how it's always gonna be. It's over, whatever it is. It is _over_." That makes Steve shut his eyes tight, holding back another unwanted cry. It's a losing battle as he opens his mouth a few times to attempt to respond and all that escapes is half-shushed sobs. Finally, Steve manages to force out the words that have been on repeat in his head for the past twelve months.

"You died." Steve's voice cracks on the words but Bucky hears them nonetheless if the way his body flinches at the admission is any indication. Steve feels the expansion of Bucky's chest as he takes a deep breath.

"I'm alive now. Steve, look at me," Bucky removes his arm to grab hold of one of Steve's hands and bring it to cup Bucky's cheek. Steve meets his eyes hungrily. "We are alive."

"I built you a house." Steve adds nonsensically. Bucky's eyes widen.

" _Jesus._ " Bucky curses. "What d'you mean Steve?"

"I wish you could've seen it. I wish you could've walked through it. Saw all the parts of you I put in there even with you gone." Steve swipes a rough hand over his eyes and brokenly shakes his head thinking of all the corners and pictures and letters. The empty bed. The quiet halls. The lonely kitchen. Maybe it didn't have the warmth of the hut, the exact intimacy that they had both carefully cultivated. But it was _for_ him. It was a monument in his honor; a rising memorial for his soul, and maybe because of that it was just as well that time stole it away. There is no need to mourn a man who is alive. And just as it stood as a testament to Bucky's life it also embodied the tomb that Steve built himself in the wake of the disaster.

"All the parts of you." Steve murmurs leaning his forehead against Bucky's and gripping a hand on the back of his neck.

"I can see it, Steve. Love, I can see it when I look at you." A couple of loose tears trail down Bucky's cheeks and Steve presses closer, angling his face back and forth to let them wet his own face.

When Steve's teeth begin chattering Bucky drags them up and back home to the warmth of the hut. Steve climbs into the bed first not letting go of Bucky's hand. Then Bucky settles tightly in next to him and Steve can take a moment to re-remember the odd incline and lumpiness of their mattress. Bucky is mostly tucked into Steve so tight because he chooses to, but Steve also knows the mattress itself is somehow lifted on one side giving a slight height on Bucky's side of the bed. He can't not roll into Steve every night.

Fuck, how he missed that detail.

Steve doesn't sleep. Can't possibly with the much needed studying of Bucky's jaw, his brow, his chest, his hips - the entirety of that sprawling, rolling landscape. Bucky doesn't sleep either. He must know that Steve needs him conscious, present, absolutely _alive_. They talk in whispers just as they used to do every night they've ever spent sleeping side by side. Steve whispers about that day; the way the air shifted and the silence in the trees grew as half of all life disappeared. He whispers about the endless goddamn meetings and taking down the hut with angry flashing hands. He whispers about building the house. Fighting with Natasha. Reading the letters. Staying up with Shuri. Rescuing trapped survivors. Putting out fires. Meeting with the governments that demonized and cast him out. Steve whispers to Bucky the agony of the unrelenting loneliness. How even, though she tried, Steve Kiev's constant presence could not sooth him.

The morning light sneaks around their shoulders and Steve's now hoarse, stuttering voice is still whispering while Bucky listens close, holding him tighter and tighter with every single breath they take. Bucky bites his lips, sniffles, and wipes rogue tears away with the back of his hand as it holds onto Steve's.

It should feel peaceful, but neither of them can shake the feeling that they can't possibly be given this hundredth chance. Any minute now, any fucking minute, one of them will blink and the other will be gone. Never having been there to begin with.

"There was a moment. Lost so much fucking blood I passed out. And it's so strange because I saw Ma, but it was only a memory. Was nothing new. I was little again. Could feel that wheeze in my lungs and the cloudiness in my one good ear. The world was grey again and I was yelling at her. Always making her life hell-"

"No you weren't, pal. You were the best thing she had." Bucky admonishes him. Steve bites his tongue and nods, lying with the dart of his eyes from Bucky's to the ceiling.

"Sure, Buck. But I was yelling at her. So angry I couldn't live in Ireland. And I asked her, fuck I had completely forgotten we had that fight until I was bleeding out on Titan...But I asked her if that was the life she wanted. The look in her eyes, Buck. I broke her heart in two. She always wanted everything good in the world for me. And I couldn't see that until it was too late."

"What'd she tell you back?" Bucky whispers. His nose traces a line up Steve's jaw then tucks behind his ear.

"Hmm?"

"What did she say when you asked her if she wanted that life?" Bucky asks again.

"Oh, well, um. She said- she said she wanted me to be free. That's what she wanted. That's all she wanted."

"It took a while then. But see, Sar, he's got it now," Bucky talks to the ceiling. Talks to _Sarah._ "You did a damn good job getting us ready. Right, Stevie?"

"But I don't feel free." Steve admits. Bucky turns his head back to him and smiles. It's small at first, considering. Then it widens and he's leaning up and rolling off the bed.

"C'mon. I'll show you something." Bucky offers a hand and Steve takes it to get out of bed. He follows as Bucky leads them out of the hut into the quickly warming sunrise. Steve squints at the flaming horizon. Bucky leads them away from the hut to a position past the pen where they can see the sunrise properly. Perfectly spilling over their land and their feet and the unruly state of Bucky's hair. Neither of them are too steady on their feet, having not slept or eaten. But their hands have not broken away from each other and that does well to keep them both standing straight.

"Do you see?" Bucky motions their hands to the glaring light. Then he looks around them at their little haven, their sanctuary. Their holy ground. Steve follows. Eyes dragging on the goats as they shift awake and the treeline partitioning their privacy. "This is what Sarah left Ireland for. Scared as hell but thinking only of you. Of this. She did everything so you could be free. And here. Fucking here you are. At last, Steve Rogers has found freedom. And I'll tell ya, pal, your ma is seeing you right now, watching you finally find that peace we've all been aching for. Sighing in relief that your stubborn ass has taken what she's given you."

"Oh." Steve breathes out overwhelmed.

"Well, you're gonna take it right?" Bucky prompts, squeezing his hand once. "I can't do it for you."

"I- Of course I am. Yes. I'm taking it. I'm taking it. _I'm taking it_."

* * *

One Year Later

They take their time building the house, because they have all the time in the world now. They leave the hut standing and instead build the house by the shore of the nearby lake, the one Bucky is so endlessly fond of. Steve admits that it's a beautiful spot but still refuses to take part in Bucky's swims. The house, as it comes along under their hands, is the perfect marriage of them both. The architecture reflects the Wakandan style and advancement while still having hidden elements of life in Brooklyn. The bare bones of the house have been completed but as for finishing touches, paint jobs, and full furnishment that will all come when it comes. The studio is the only space that hasn't been completely built up so they keep a plastic tarp nailed up to keep out the weather. The house is full of windows, mostly floor to ceiling, letting golden honey hued light in. The house itself is relatively small because neither of them need much else and the intimacy is comforting. There is only the unfinished studio, the bedroom, and the main room that shares space with the kitchen.

The goats stay by the hut and some nights Bucky sleeps there when one of the animals isn't doing well or Steve annoys him to no end. Or sometimes Bucky just works himself too hard and forgets to come back up to the house. But worst than that, is when Bucky has a nightmare so bad he has to tear himself from Steve's arms and lay awake in the hut until it's time to milk the goats.

Bucky spends his days taking care of the animals, swimming, helping in the garden, and drawing next to Steve when he ends up wrapped up in an art project. He still helps Akhona and it's much easier now since her stubbornness is beginning to wane with age. Bucky acquires a cow, another goat, and a donkey. He quickly names them various plays on Steve's name, because _it's fucking Bucky and his stupid humor that only he gets._ Steve spends half his time helping with the animals now that they have so many. Steve tried to send the cow back. He tried multiple times. But unfortunately when a local elder gives you a gift it is incredibly rude to return it. Still, Steve dislikes the cow the most. Bucky is indifferent towards _Two Percent Steve_ but it's clear he isn't his favorite of the bunch. At least they know how to work with the goats and the donkey has use. The cow is simply in the way. Still, Bucky milks him and forces Steve to do the same at least a few times a week. They've been so used to goat milk that the adjustment is jarring and much of it goes to waste unless they give it away. On top of their oversupply of milk, the monstrous cow is huge and getting somehow bigger every day. They had to build additional pens and a pathetic barn for the new additions. It's been a lot for two men with no previous farming experience.

Shuri enjoys laughing at them.

Steve racks up a decent collection of art work from all his time spent rediscovering his talent. He draws familiar scenes and people. Portraits of the past and faces from dreams. A lot of them are fine, detailed pieces that Bucky likes to whistle at when he sees Steve working on them. Others are messy, hurried scrawls of nightmares and bodies that Steve was never quick enough to save. He paints too but he was never one for acrylics when graphite was so much more familiar for him to work with. When Sam and Nat had come to visit a few weeks ago, Steve was showing his latest sketches to them when they suggested he set up a stall in the city and sell his work. It took some bolstering from Bucky after they left for New York because Steve didn't think they were worth anything to the Wakandans whose art and style is so much more impressive than his own, but eventually he did. That began the start of their unshakable routine of farming and selling and gardening and swimming and _living_.

Their house is secluded by dense trees and thick foliage that Bucky uses to his advantage when it's especially hot outside. If no guests from the palace or America or the village or otherwise are around Bucky will refuse to put on clothes. Soon the white of his ass disappears and every inch of his skin is sandy toned muscle. Steve teases him about his shameless nudity but often ends up shucking his clothes just as well. His skin doesn't tan like Bucky's but ends up with uneven burns and freckles that Bucky claims to adore.

Natasha brought Liho a couple times and Bucky finally believed her about having a cat. Liho likes to climb up Bucky's legs and sit on his left shoulder. Liho also likes to bite his ear. It only makes Bucky laugh. One week after Liho's first visit Bucky came home with a little white kitten that came with the name Alpine. Steve stared at him for a long time before griping, "But when I wanted a dog you said we had enough dogs in the pen out there. You do know that if they have horns and/or beards they aren't dogs, right?" Bucky listened to him whine for ten more minutes before he settled Steve with a, "Jesus H. Christ, you baby. We'll get a dog." Two days after that Steve came home with a sad, brown, nervous little puppy.

Steve named him Bucky.

Georgie is getting frailer and more forgetful, which terrifies Bucky to no end so he spends a lot of weekends in New York. He comes home shaking and quiet, wishing he didn't have to leave her but grateful that New York isn't his home anymore. Steve meets Bucky there every couple weeks for a day when they can afford to leave the farm in the hands of a friend. They meet one of Bucky's nieces and her daughter on one of the trips and Bucky and her hit it off immediately. After, Bucky reels at the idea he chose not to get to know his family. _I mean I didn't know they'd be so fucking cool, Steve. They're way better company than you._

Sometimes Bucky reminisces about vague memories of a world bathed in colors so vibrant he couldn't believe. He tells Steve in the musings before bed about being somewhere far away with Sam, T'Challa, Fezile, Wanda and so many others. He explains the incomplete ideas about being adrift in what felt like another world, another dream. Bucky tells him he thinks he remembers when the world was split down the middle. Steve shudders.

Six months after Steve and the Avengers reversed the Snap Natasha confronted the UN with two file boxes full of information about the Snap. She had articles, photographs, documents, videos, and testimonies of the year gone by. Steve asked her how she managed to fucking swing that and she told him she just kept a flashdrive on her when they reversed time. She hadn't told Steve she was going to do it. And even Sam hadn't warned him about the ensuing trial. Steve remained in hiding and the Avengers let him. Nat risked her own freedom to get them exonerated. She told Steve _I'm good at it but I'm goddamn sick of hiding. And you deserve more than this._ Steve had held her close, hiding his face in her still long hair at the sting of the words. The story of the Snap didn't get publically released, and never will, but after a three month long legal argument all the Avengers were cleared and the Accords killed.

Steve hears there's a new Hero Registration being pushed for by Ross but he doesn't care. He tells the world he's retired. When he feels low and exhausted and reeks of barn animals he wanders into Bucky's space and asks him if he ever feels useless. Here they are with all their strength and belief in life but they aren't doing anything about it. Bucky tucks Steve's scruffy hair back which is now down to the length it was when he was that fugitive vigilante on the run and tells him they've served long enough and that passing on the fight is not backing down. It isn't losing purpose. It's just living. _'Sides, Stevie, Sam looks damn good in that red, white, and blue. More than you ever did._

Today, after they've done their work down at the hut and in town Steve leans his elbows on the wooden counter of their kitchen island watching the muscles in Bucky's back work as he prepares dinner. They decided on a simple salad that Bucky said he wanted to take out and eat by the hut which Steve huffingly agreed to. _What's better about eating at the hut?_ But Bucky never offered him an intelligible explanation beyond something about a picnic. _Springtime,_ Bucky had shrugged holding the head of lettuce in one hand.

Bucky's going on about something _adorable_ Alpine did today but Steve is only half listening as he stares at the strong planes of skin in front of him. Bucky isn't wearing a shirt today, as always, and Steve continues his appraisal unabashedly. Steve can't believe Bucky has the nerve to stand there and be so goddamn beautiful. And all goddamn his.

He's been thinking a lot lately about that conversation he had with Natasha on the trip back from Titan. As the days pass, Steve wants more and more of every little bit of Bucky and thinks it would be just fine if all of Africa knew it. He thinks of what Bucky said in one of his letters, which they keep in a drawer by the bed, where he mentioned embarrassingly taking Steve's last name. It was technically Sarah's but it was a propelling thought. Steve picks dirt out from underneath his fingernails and sighs.

"Hey I don't know if you'd be into this but," Steve takes a deep breath. "Do you think you could marry me?" Bucky stops chopping the lettuce they grew themselves in the garden and looks over his shoulder at Steve with an unreadable expression. Steve falters slightly, about to take it back when Bucky gently sets down the knife, turns, and leans against the counter, placing a hand on his hip to complete the affronted posture.

"You...You don't know if I'd be "into this"?" Bucky asks with a tilt to his head. Steve doesn't get a chance to respond before Bucky huffs loudly and walks out the screen door off the kitchen. It empties out into their vegetable garden and Steve hears Bucky mocking him as he stomps down the stone path, " _Don't know if you'd be into this but you think you could marry me?_ What kind of bullshit propos-"

"Oh, Buck, come back. I can do it better!" Steve yells through the screen. He can't help but laugh because he hears Bucky laughing too as he follows him outside. Bucky the dog follows on Steve's heels and Alpine jumps from her spot on a shelf to join. They used to keep jars of preserves and grains up there but she kept pushing them off and shattering them so now that's just her shelf.

"No, you've done it now, asshole!" Bucky calls over his shoulder with a grin. "Ain't no way I accept a proposal like that!" Bucky walks into the wildly overgrown path that cuts through the treeline to get to the hut. Steve walks faster to catch up and grabs for Bucky's hand when he does. But Bucky is too fast for him and pulls his hand out of reach.

"Buck-" Steve giggles and Bucky picks up speed. Soon they're nearing the clearing by their hut and Steve stops when they cut out of the edge of the jungle. "Bucky..." Steve looks at the spread of flowers and the blankets laid out on the ground. Bucky actually did set up a picnic.

"Now this is a proposal," Bucky smiles widely at him and tugs him along until they reach the blankets. Bucky pushes Steve down then disappears inside the hut and brings back a basket. When he sits back down Steve opens his mouth to speak but Bucky cuts him off. "This is how you do it, Steve."

"What d'you-" Then Bucky pulls out a small wooden box from the basket and rests it on Steve's bent knee. It teeters uncertainly before Steve grabs it and squints at it.

"Go on." Bucky's eyes glint. Steve carefully opens it and sees the simple gold band inside. There's actually two, one for each of them. Bucky pokes Steve's cheek to get his attention. "Hey, Steve, will you m-"

"No, fuck off, I asked first." Steve interrupts him. Bucky throws his head back to laugh.

"Well I asked better." Bucky takes the box from Steve's hands and takes one of the rings out. Bucky still keeps his vibranium arm around the house but he never uses it. Right now it's collecting dust in its case under their bed. Bucky puts the ring between his teeth and wiggles the fingers of his right hand until Steve surrenders his left. Bucky slips the ring on and they both breathe out at the same time. Then Steve takes the other ring and puts in on Bucky's right hand.

"You fucking planned this, you bastard." Steve shakes his head and lifts Bucky's knuckles to his mouth to kiss the ring.

"You kept doing this funny thing all week. Opening and closing your mouth. Sighing all the fucking time. I know you, you know. I always know what you're getting up to in there. Thought I'd beat you to it." Bucky nuzzles Steve's jaw and knocks his head once against him. Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders to keep him locked there.

"You had the rings made in a week?" Steve whispers in his ear. He can feel the grin spread over Bucky's face before he sheepishly answers, "Well, those I've had for a while."

"How long?" Steve asks pulling back slightly to eye him suspiciously. Bucky makes a face like he can't remember and shrugs. "Oh my fuck, how long?"

"You don't need to know, Rogers!" Bucky pulls out of his hold and rolls away picking out a piece of fruit from the picnic basket. Steve sits and stares at Bucky who is purposefully avoiding eye contact. When he's halfway through the fruit he says nonchalantly around a mouthful, "Like eight months."

Steve bursts out laughing.

"Oh get fucked, ugly!" Bucky shouts throwing the core at Steve who dodges it easily. Still laughing, Steve moves closer to him, pushing Bucky back and looming over him. Bucky's lips are wet from the juice of the fruit and Steve chases the sweetness. He gets a taste of the tartness and the Buckyness and moans into the opening mouth below him. They kiss until there's no air left between them then Steve rips his numb lips away and lazily opens his eyes into Bucky's.

"I'm glad we found home again." Steve tells Bucky with a sure smile.

"Oh, Auntie Em, there's no place like home." Bucky whispers against Steve's lips as he surges back up. Steve hums, a grin splitting his face and spilling onto Bucky's. They kiss and laugh and undress on the blankets while the salad waits on the counter at the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't Let The Sun Go Down - Elton John
> 
> excuse my mistakes friends x
> 
> say it with me STEVEBUCKY RETIREMENT !!! for all that injury/medical nonsense in the first half of this chapter....please be gentle with me I am not medically trained or even equipped with commonsense healthcare thank u and goodnight
> 
> this was such a long and fun ride and i really loved putting my first ever fic out there!! i'll be back again with other stuff soon so watch out:) thank u for reading u legends


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